


the fate of the stars

by opaldawn



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Welcome to Night Vale Setting, Canon Typical Weirdness, Developing Relationship, Dinner dates, Flirting, Gen, Gratuitous Description of Outfits, Kissing, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rita Redacted as a Lucky Intern, Valles Vicky's Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, and 'Rex Glass' as a Mysterious Outsider, ft. Juno Steel as the Petulant Radio Host
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaldawn/pseuds/opaldawn
Summary: In other news, a stranger came to our…lovelylittle town today. His teeth were sharp, like a fox, and his eyes were… it was like he could look right through you. Through all the grime and malaise of the world and right into your heart. And god, the way he smelled. I'm not a fan of cologne usually— makes my head hurt— but on him it was… different. Just another piece of the puzzle.Or whatever. Or— whatever. 'Course I'm just telling you all this so you know him when you see him— shut up, Rita, I'm on the air— not like it'll be too hard. He calls himself Dr. Rex Glass, but let me editorialize here for a second, 'cuz there's no way that anyone has a name like that…(A Welcome to Night Vale AU. Minimal knowledge of Welcome to Night Vale is actually required.)
Relationships: Juno Steel & Valles Vicky, Mick Mercury & Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel, Rita & Mick Mercury
Comments: 82
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so here it is!! the welcome to night vale AU that you've all been praying for, that's been a void in your lives. up. until. now. i wrote this all the way back in november, and am posting it now because i want attention!! updates will be every other day until it is all done
> 
> you really need to know very little about welcome to night vale in order to understand this fic, just that it's a weird little town with a relatively supernatural radio show host. this fic contains no spoilers for the show and is just inspired by it
> 
> content warnings for this chapter are: discussions but not depictions of gun violence and death, lots o blood, and a very brief mention of alcoholism

_Here's a list of things to keep in mind._

_You'll hear the shots before you feel them._

_Right in between the hearing and the feeling comes the smell. That smoky sulfur-metal that you've heard described on crime shows before and always wondered a little bit about. With the smell comes the disbelief, the moment of inability to comprehend that this could be happening to you. What did you do to deserve this?_

_Even before you heard or felt or smelled anything, there was the dread. How far has it stretched back? When you woke up this morning, did you know, some little part of you, that this was it? How about when you wished your wife goodbye? You were definitely feeling it by the time you left work, a tight knot in your stomach, but you wrote it off as indigestion, didn't you. That wasn't very smart. You read that pop psychology book in the cafe of the Barnes and Noble that one time. You know that your brain is always observing, slicing, finding patterns. You knew that something was bound to go wrong, walking home this way, but you didn't listen to yourself._

_Last of all comes the acceptance. You probably felt one way or another about death— almost everyone does! Right now, maybe you're realizing that you'd been lying to yourself about what you really wanted. Or maybe you hadn't really come to grips with it like you thought you had, even with that philosophy course you were taking online. Maybe you're not even thinking about any of that, just hoping that someone will walk by soon enough to find_ you, _instead of finding your_ body.

_They won't._

_This message is brought to you by Denny's! Denny's: Our condolences and everything, but if you'd gone out to eat tonight, this wouldn't have happened, would it?_

_In other news, a stranger came to our…_ lovely _little town today. His teeth were sharp, like a fox, and his eyes were… it was like he could look right through you. Through all the grime and malaise of the world and right into your heart. And god, the way he smelled. I'm not a fan of cologne usually— makes my head hurt— but on him it was… different. Just another piece of the puzzle._

_Or whatever. Or— whatever. 'Course I'm just telling you all this so you know him when you see him— shut up, Rita, I'm on the air— not like it'll be too hard. He calls himself Dr. Rex Glass, but let me editorialize here for a second, 'cuz there's no way that anyone has a name like that…_

Fifteen more minutes of news and propaganda and useless fluff later and Juno Steel, Voice of Hyperion City, is done for the day. He flips the "ON AIR" sign off, pushes the mic away, and leans back, two legs of the chair touching the ground. His right eye— not like he really needs to clarify, but it's a habit he hasn't been able to kick— aches from another day of using the Sight, and his hair is mussed from the headphones. 

Like clockwork, as soon as he finishes the last sip of his coffee, Intern Rita comes clattering in through the door. 

"Hiiiii, Mistah Steel!" She's beaming, carrying a stack of papers, just like every afternoon, every day, since she showed up at the studio. Well, Juno thinks so, anyway. He can't really remember any time _before_ Rita was working for him. 

Which isn't to say that she's gotten any _better_ at it. Case in point— she unplugs a cable with her foot as she walks over to the desk, sets the papers down right on the ring stain from the coffee, and upends Juno's half-full bottle of Emergen-C gummies.

"Rita." He sighs. 

"Oops," she offers. "I'll buy you a new bottle, boss! And I'll make _sure_ not to get the ones that make the little sirens come on in your head this time, or the ones that taste like salt water!"

Two things can be said about Intern Rita. 

One, she's stupidly easy to get annoyed at. Juno's not a _patient_ lady, per se, but Rita seems to come with an aura of mishaps and vapid chatter. _More bumbling than a bee,_ he thinks briefly, then remembers that wordplay has been declared taboo ever since Pereyra and the City Council became obsessed with Seinfeld. He forces his thoughts back to his headache.

"Oh, boss, you look like you had a bad day, huh? D'you want I should get you a refill of coffee? Or if you need I can even talk to Station Management, tell 'em you need to take tomorrow off! I'll even be the one to do the blood rites."

Oh, right. Thing Two about Intern Rita: you'd have to be some kind of joyless monster to hate her. Actually, scratch that— even when the Beast of All Sorrows was manifested a few years back, Rita'd been able to get a chuckle out of it by telling some winding story about her favorite kids' show (the cartoon adaptation of _If On a Winter's Night a Traveler,_ naturally). Maybe it was the blindingly colorful way she dressed, or that she shared food with everyone, or maybe how she tried to see the good in everyone.

Or maybe the way she'd stuck with him, despite all the bullshit he'd pulled.

He'd thought at first that she was prophesied, or blood oathed to the station or something. But apparently she genuinely just _liked_ it here. Liked the early hours, the deadly and unknowable bosses, the floating rabbit in the bathroom (well, that one's fair). Liked _him,_ not just as all-knowing Radio Host Steel, not just as a fellow townsfolk. As a friend.

No accounting for taste for some people, apparently. 

Anyways. 

"No coffee," he says, then, adds after the fact, "thanks, Rita." It may have been a shitty day, all things considered, but he's. Well. He's trying, okay? Trying not to push maybe the one person in this town who's really got his back, maybe the one person who'll be around as long as he will, anyway.

"No prob, boss!"

"Hey, didja get any more info on Glass?" He tries his best to sound disinterested.

"Who's— ooh, you mean your _mystery crush?_ " Rita giggles and leans against the desk, flipping a switch on the switchboard (because see Point One about her). A piercing hum fills the studio and the lights dim and redden. Juno doesn't know whether that's because of the switch or because Station Management's interested in his supposed _mystery crush._ It makes his head hurt. 

"Rita," he says, clenching his jaw. "He is not my _mystery crush._ "

"All right, Mistah Steel, but you sure was saying a lot of real nice things about him on air tonight! I ain't heard you talk about anyone like that since we watched that movie about the 'gators that got into the swimming pool and the lifeguard lady caught your eye, and even then you didn't go on about them for as long!"

"Shut up, Rita." God, this job was going to be the death of him. Probably literally, to be honest, but right now that didn't seem like too bad an outcome. "I'm a _reporter._ I may not have depth perception, but I can tell a fresh-faced con artist when I see one. Just wanted to let my _fellow townspeople_ know what to look out for."

"Uh huh!" Rita's not convinced. "Well, you better be on guard Tuesday, 'cuz he says he wants to talk with you!"

" _What._ " The hum gets louder and the red gets redder. There's a cloyingly familiar scent of copper, too, now, and Juno runs over his mantra in his mind: _never say or think that a day couldn't get any worse._

"Yeee-up! Heard about our little station here, wanted to get to talk to—" she giggles— "the lady who's the backbone and the beating heart of this whole town!" 

"Can it, Rita. Sarcasm isn't a good look on you." Neither are the growing red stains on her overalls from the blood now dripping from the ceiling, but Juno doesn't even have the energy for that. Maybe if he ignores it it'll just go away. Definitely if he _doesn't_ ignore it he'll have to huddle in the studio bathroom for a while trying not to be sick. 

"Mistah Steel! I would _never!_ That's straight from Mistah Rex's mouth, and you know, ain't that a lovely name? Just—"

"He called me that?" A drop of blood lands on his forehead and he wipes it off with the back of his hand.

"Those words exactly! I wrote 'em down, too, didn't wanna forget 'cuz I know you always like to mega-analyze everything everyone says!"

Huh. 

He knows he's something of a local celebrity. Hell, at times he even feels bad, guilty for being so loved by a people— by a town— he wants nothing more than to get away from. 

_Beating heart of the town,_ though. Those words, along with the glimpse that he caught of Glass earlier in the day (parking his motorbike in the lot of the Hyperion City Inn and Out, taking off his jet-black helmet, letting that similarly jet-black hair fall loose around his shoulders, grinning up at the sky like he was in on some big cosmic joke) are enough to make his own heart beat a little faster.

"Fine. Tuesday, then. He say what time he's gonna call?"

"Weeeeell... " Rita takes a little pad of paper (bright yellow, patterned with ladybugs and emblazoned with the words _Junior Reporter's First Notebook_ ) out of her purse. "At first he wanted to call while you were on air, but I told him no way, Mistah Steel has important things to report and a very tight schedule and he don't ever let anyone on the show unless Station Management mind-controls him not even someone he thinks is real nice-smelling—"

"If you really said that to him—"

Rita sticks out her tongue at him, catching a drop of blood on its fall down. "Eurgh," she says, and then, "What, you'll fire me? You can try, Mistah Steel, but you know I ain't leaving! Anyways, he said that he'd call you at nine, then. So don't go schedulin' any hot dates or get-togethers!"

It's a cheap shot— Juno's love life is distinctly lacking, and his friend life (whatever that means) almost as much. He wants to stick out his tongue in response, but doesn't particularly want to find out if the stuff Station Management's pumping into the room has got prions in it. 

"Fine." He groans. "S'probably written in my _contract_ somewhere that I have to talk to every hotshot who comes rolling into town, and I don't wanna risk righty." He rubs his thumb absentmindedly over the chafed skin just below his eyepatch. 

The stench of blood has gotten bad enough now that he doesn't need to use his Sight to know he'll be hunched over in the bathroom if he doesn't get out of here soon. Station Management must've tuned out all of last month's citywide meeting about mental health sensitivity in the workplace, omens to avoid, and the best flavor of Starburst (respectively: smells are a very common PTSD trigger, blood rain, and yellow). 

"Tuesday at nine, then!" Rita chirps, enthusiastic as ever. "I'll call 'im back and let him know it's a date!"

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he says.

The walls hum. The ceiling bleeds. Rita grins.

* * *

Nine p. m. Tuesday rolls around a whole lot faster than Juno expected. Partly due to the fact that they skipped Sunday altogether and only added an extra hour on Monday to make up for it. Partly due to the fact that he couldn't stop sneaking glances at the newcomer whenever he was off duty. The looming threat of more Rita-heckling had kept him from reporting any more about Fangs on the news, but he can't deny that he's been in his thoughts really just a stupid amount. 

Juno sits on his couch, feet up on the coffee table, glass of whiskey in his right hand. Maybe, he thinks, if he feigns nonchalantitude well enough, Pereyra's Secret Police won't notice that he's in a fragile state of mind, thinking about those goddamn teeth since last Wednesday, and hasn't filled out _any_ of the necessary paperwork for flirting, innuendo, or pining. He's trying so hard to project an air of _calm, cool, collected_ that he almost misses it when his phone starts emitting wisps of pinkish-purple, ethereal mist. 

Huh. Unlisted number, then. _Probably a telemarketer,_ he tells himself as he presses the "accept call" button. _A telemarketer, that's all._

"Hello, Juno." The voice that comes from the other end, melodic with just a hint of a chuckle beneath it, a little smug, a lot enticing, is definitely not that of a telemarketer. Juno can tell- he's always had a gift at matching voices to faces, and plus, they took out the all vocal cords of all the telemarketers last year as penance. 

"Uh." He fumbles the pass entirely. "Hi. Um, hey. Is this, uh, this is, uh, Rex?" 

"Say again? I didn't quite hear that the first time."

"Wha- is this Rex Glass? Hi, this is, uh, Juno Steel."

The voice on the other end _laughs._ Juno feels like he's got pop rocks in his heart. "I know, Juno. And forgive me for toying with you. You say my name so nicely, is all, and I simply wanted to hear it again."

And how can he expect Juno to know what to say to that? 

"Listen," he says after a while. "What do you want? I'm a busy lady, you know, I got stuff to be doing." It's a bold-faced lie— he’d spent the night playing online solitaire, but Glass has no way of knowing that. 

"Perhaps I just wanted to talk to you, Juno Steel, voice of Hyperion City!" The way he says it is so pretty, so sincere, that Juno almost believes it. Almost. 

Everyone always _wants_ something from him, is the thing. Wants him to be a fortune-teller, or a bedwarmer, or a community radio host. Just because he can't suss it out from Glass immediately doesn't mean he trusts him further than he could throw him. 

Which also doesn't mean that he doesn't, somewhere deep down and atrophied, like to hear that voice. And he figures that there are worse ways to spend a Tuesday night, anyway. Such as online solitaire.

"Okay, I'll bite." He wipes the back of his hand on his forehead. God, he's sweating like a schoolgirl like a crush, just from talking to this interloper. Stupid. "Let's _talk._ "

"Oh, wonderful!" The smile in his voice is audible, and against Juno's will it brings one to his face as well. "Your town is so remarkably interesting, Juno…"

There it was. The town. A scientist, then, maybe, or a journalist or something. Trying to figure out more about this fucked-up little corner of the Southwest where time shifted like the desert sand in a stiff breeze. 

"...but of everything I've seen or heard here, your show was by far my favorite. I don't know if I've ever heard anything as lovely as the way that you delivered that editorial about rabbits."

Oh. Huh. 

"Oh," Juno says eloquently. "Huh."

* * *

Time passes quickly talking to Glass, in a way he's not used to when spending time with anyone except the bottle. He seems genuinely interested in Juno himself— not the town, not the prophecy, not the Sight or the Voice or the empty socket but the lady behind it all. Sure, he asks some stuff about the town, but it's less of _what's up with all the wild stuff here and why are you at the center of it all?_ and more about the best places to eat, the local folklore, just (and Juno doesn't know whether the thought delights or disgusts him) the typical getting-to-know-you questions.

It's almost two hours later when the conversational flow breaks, moon high in the sky and the Secret Police agent outside Juno's window already having pretended to go home for the night.

"Well, Juno," he says, either poorly hiding a real yawn or skillfully feigning one. "It's been absolutely incredible talking with you tonight, but I'm afraid I've got an early morning tomorrow. Do you think I could call you back another time? This Sunday, perhaps?"

"Yeah." Juno finds himself looking forward to it already. "Sunday sounds great. This time again?"

"If you wouldn't mind!" There's the sound of him writing something down. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, darling."

The endearment sends a shock up his spine he doesn't quite know what to think about. "S'real formal," he says with a yawn (definitely real on his end). "But yeah. This was… nice."

"Good night, Juno," says the sweet interloper.

"Night, Glass," he says, then again for good measure. "Good night."

He hangs up before he can say anything else stupid. As he does, he notices two things, in this order.

First: his cheeks hurt from smiling. Weird.

Second: for all that Glass asked about him, he hadn't told him a single thing about himself. Not his job, not why he'd come to Hyperion, nothing. 

Even weirder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes at no particular rate. Juno talks with an old friend and a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in this one for discussions of injury (nothing graphic), and general spider nastiness

Waiting is  _ hard _ on Juno, okay? Even for someone who kinda exists outside of time, sometimes its crawling passage is unbearable. He pointedly doesn't mention Glass on the radio, pointedly keeps his Sight closed whenever he's not using it for news, pointedly avoids the Inn and Out. 

And in his free time. Well. 

He's got three tried-and-true ways of getting out of his head, one of which is out of the picture entirely due to the fact that his thoughts won't ever leave the stupid interloper and he wants to be able to be a functioning human being during their next interaction. 

Technique 2 works great, until Thursday, when he runs out not just of whiskey but out of sake, blood vodka, and ginger ale as well. And of course the City's doing their annual Decade Reenactment Week, and  _ of course  _ it's the 20s this year, complete with Prohibition.

So Juno goes bowling. 

Listen. He knows that it's a dumb hobby, one that puts him in the ranks of harmonica players and state-quarter collecters, but it's better than sitting at home and staring at the cracks in the ceiling. And it's  _ definitely  _ better than trying to follow one of Rita's hairbrained streams. Plus, Vic owes him a drink, and he knows she's got some of the good stuff behind the bar. 

* * *

Valles Vicky's Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, or Vicky's Alley, as it's called by the mostly burned-out neon sign out front, is nothing if not noisy, bright, and tacky in both senses of the word. Juno can't remember a time that the Alley existed without Vicky, or that Vicky existed without the Alley, or any time when it was being constructed— it just showed up one day. It was nothing, and then it was noisy, bright, and tacky in both senses of the word. 

It's late, late enough that the sky's a nice dark purple like a veil not quite hiding the light of the stars. He sits on the hood of his car for a second when he parks in the lot, just looking up and up and up. Then he shakes his head, rolls his eye, and starts walking towards the Alley.

"OPEN ALL NIGHT SAT AND SUN", reads the sign on the door, which opens when he steps up to it. It's not automatic, but it knows him well enough to offer a little courtesy. The letters on the sign rearrange to spell out "HI LUNO STEL", the rest of the letters clattering into a pile on the ground.

Well. Not a bad attempt, for a door. Squinting at it for a second, he flips the L over. There. "Hey," he mock-salutes it as he walks inside. 

The second he does, he notices something is  _ off. _ It’s emptier inside than he thinks he’s seen it since the digital pox epidemic, and yet there’s a whole lot of commotion coming from over by the lanes. Not the usual yelling of kids and clattering of pins, either, but… a rumbling sound, loud and low enough that he feels it in his feet all the way up to his eardrums. 

Vicky Valles is sitting at the bar, nursing an Irish coffee and looking pretty disgruntled. She doesn’t notice him come in, so naturally he sneaks up behind her (skulking, loitering, and sneaking being three of the essential skills for a community radio host) and grabs the mug, taking a nice long sip. 

She whirls around. “Hey! What the hell— oh, it’s you, Steel.”

“You always make it too strong for me, Vic,” he says by way of greeting, plopping down onto a stool next to her. She’s got a stain on the right leg of her jeans that’s definitely either blood or something that looks a lot like it. Well, they’re matching— he hasn’t even had time to get his coat cleaned since Station Management’s bitchfit the other day. 

“Didn’t make it for you, dumbass,” she says. And wow, Juno’s no detective, but does she ever sound grumpy. 

He’s no therapist, either, but he cares about his friends enough to ask, “Got a stick up your ass or something?”

“God, if only,” she says, then her brain catches up to her mouth. “What the shit? I mean— if only if it were that simple. I mean, I don’t know what I’m talking about— shut the hell up, Steel. Been a long day.”

“Problems with the wife?” He nods at her sympathetically. 

She growls. “You fuckin’ kidding me? She and the little guy are the only things goin’  _ right  _ recently.”

“Ohhh.” He thinks he’s caught on by now. “Problems with the alley, then.”

“What gave it away, dumbass?” A long sip as a punctuation mark. “The fact that you’re the only one here? The fact that the ground sounds like it’s boutta split in half?” She pulls up the leg of her jeans, revealing a cloth bandage wrapped around her calf. “This?”

Juno gives a low whistle. “What the hell  _ happened  _ here? You’re makin’ it sound like a warzone!”

“Not too goddamn far off,” she grumbles. “C’mere. I’ll show you.” 

  
  


Vicky leads him over to the lanes. His favorite is caution-taped off, and there’s more goddamn blood all over the ground by it, scuff marks on the floor nearby. The rumbling’s even louder over here, and the ground is visibly agitated about it, practically shaking in rage. Other than that… nothing looks off. More than usual, anyways— there’s a nasty slice of pizza on the ground, and some gum stuck to the bottom of one of the scoring computers. 

“Follow,” Vicky tells him. “And watch your legs.”

She strides quickly down Lane 5, Juno in tow, and stares down into the pin retrieval area.

There’s... nothing there. Juno never thought of  _ bowling alley owner  _ as a job that causes undue wear and tear on the mind, but maybe Vic’s been drinking more than usual or something.

“What are we looking for,” he asks after just a painfully awkward second.

“Shh!” she says. “Don’t want ‘em to know that we’re here.”

_ For the love of a Smiling God, could he not just have a normal night for once?  _ He nods resignedly.

And then something very sharp, moving very fast, collides with his ankle and stays there.

“Fuck!” he hisses, hobbling over to a squeaky, sticky couch to assess the damage. Vicky sighs. 

“Told you to watch your legs, Steel. Hey, if that’s one of the poison-tipped ones, can I take over your show?” 

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response, instead just steadying himself and yanking the projectile from his flesh. Just like Vicky’s coffee, it hurts worse coming out than going in, and he lets out a little yelp, much to Vicky’s amusement.  _ Asshole _ . 

He holds it up to the light to get a better look. It’s… huh. Pretty cool, actually. It appears to be a lance (or maybe a spear, he never paid much attention in Military History) in miniature, too detailed to be a prop or a toy, handle seemingly made of real wood, tip razor-sharp. There’s little barbs all up the sides, with— aw, fuck— with some of Juno’s flesh still hooked onto them. 

“Vic,” he calls. “You’re gonna tell me what the hell just got me, okay, but first I’m gonna need a drink.”

  
  


He makes his way over to the bar, with Vicky’s pointed lack of help. Which is fine— he wouldn’t have, what, leaned on her shoulder or anything even if she’d offered. 

“Bad news, Steel,” Vicky calls to him, looking in her little fridge. “Fresh out of everything except spiderliquor.”

Shit, Juno  _ hates  _ spiderliquor. It’s always, no question, too strong or not strong enough. Not to mention the little scraps of leg that get in there sometimes. 

But, well. He’s got a hole in his own leg, a hot date in two days, and now a headache. “Spider me,” he tells her, deadpan.

She places a glass of noxious black gunk in front of him, and he sighs, then flips her off when she comes back with another Irish coffee for herself. Naturally. 

“So what’s the story,” he says. “You adding some new rules to bowling or something?” 

“Be a good girl and drink up and I’ll fill you in.” She smirks.

“God, I hate you so much. You’re not still mad about the harvest festival incident, are you?”

“Among others.” 

“Fuck off. I’m sorry, okay? Can I get something to drink other than—” he peers into his glass— “eau de thorax?”

“Sorry, Steel,” she says. “I need the good stuff more than you do. Gotta have a backup plan if this place goes belly-up, and a speakeasy seems like it’d be real profitable right now.”

“Right.” He spins around in a full 360 on his stool. It’s the little things. “So, what the hell’s wrong with this place? I never thought I’d see the day Vicky Valles thought about giving up the Alley!”

“Never thought I’d see it, either.” She sounds almost wistful now, which either means something’s  _ really  _ wrong or means she had a couple drinks before Juno got here. “But, y’know. Nobody ever expects to wake up one morning to find a medieval army guarding a doomsday device under their business.”

“Yeah, well.” Juno wants to say that living in Hyperion City, nobody should expect to  _ expect  _ anything that happens, but decides against it. Doesn’t want to have to wash spiderliquor from his hair. “Sounds like a long story.”

“Not so much. Can’t get close enough to figure out much more than that, only that there’s a shitton of six-inch soldiers down there. They sent up an emissary to tell us that ‘we’d never get the Egg’. I dunno what the hell that is, but that was the day the ground started shaking, so I got a few guesses.”

“Must be bad for business.”

“No kidding. You know ol’ Jules?”

“DiMaggio?”

“Natch. He went over there when his bowling ball got stuck in the gutter. They stuck ‘im with so many spears and shit that he looks like a porcupine. Nah, more like a pincushion, they filled him fulla lead too.” She stares at her drink like she’s trying to read her future in it. 

“Jesus shit. He make it out alive?”

“Just barely. He’s over at Old Woman Buddy’s, getting patched up by her girlfriend and prayed on by the angels.” He wants to remind her not to acknowledge them, but knows, between the wrath of a vague yet menacing government agency and the wrath of Vicky Valles interrupted while in full kvetch mode, which he’d rather face. “Well, I convinced him not to sue, but it was a real near thing, you know. No good for business, for sure.” 

“Hey, wait a second.” Something’s off here. “How the hell didn’t I know about any of this?”

Vicky scowls. “Cashed in a favor with the Council to keep it out of the news. Operative word  _ cash,  _ you know, pretty much drained the old retirement fund dry. But goddamn it, Steel, the wife can’t find out about this!”

“You know you coulda just asked me not to report on it, right? And had that settle our score instead of the—” he sniffs the drink, then sets it back down— “spiderliquor?”

“What, and have you losin’ your other eye trying to figure out what’s going on without letting the town in on it? I don’t hate you  _ that  _ much, Steel.”

“Means a lot, Vic. Hope you’ve got an antidote somewhere back there if you care about me that much.” He cuts his losses, counts his blessings, and takes a sip. It’s even more disgusting than he expected it to be, which he thinks should probably be impossible. 

“I’m not kidding, Steel. If word of this gets out, I'm even more ruined than I already was."

"Fine, fine." Juno shrugs. "You know, if you want, I could try and help out. I'm no detective, but I like to think I'm pretty tuned into what's what in this little podunk."

"Hell are you gonna do, rally an army?" Vicky scowles into her drink. "Nah. M'having a construction crew in here next week, gonna have them seal off the lane. Other than that… best I can hope for is they don't kill anyone else."

"Guessing League Night is off, then?" 

"Unless ol' Buddy and the you-know-whats want to do a skee-ball tournament instead." She finishes her drink, stands up from the table. "Holy hell, it's eleven? I gotta get home to read the kid a bedtime story. Last time I forgot, he grew another arm." 

"Aw, come on. I thought the alley was 'open all night Sat and Sun'." Not like he was really planning on bowling after hearing what happened to Julian, but he would've at least had another spiderliquor. 

She spreads her arms wide. "All yours. Have fun, don't forget to lock up and turn out the lights." 

Juno flips her off as she leaves. It's deeply satisfying.

* * *

One thing can be said about the night out. It did something to help take his mind off Glass, at least a little.

Look, Juno's just a reporter. He just lives here, okay? He learned long enough ago that if he tried to puzzle out every mystery that Hyperion had to offer, his head would literally explode. (He's seen it happen before.) But grizzled and world-weary though he may be, when something shitty happens to one of his friends, he's gonna try and help them out.

He owes it to Vic, anyway. She's gotten him out of real bad places, both physically and metaphorically, more than once. 

So he calls around. Mentions on his show that he'd just  _ love _ to talk with a seismologist or a military historian, just 'cuz he's got some burning questions. Asks Old Woman Buddy about the state of poor Jules (recovering, scarred, flamboyant). Even sucks it up and has Rita do a little research.

And— nothing. Not the kind of nothing that indicates she just got an unlucky Hyperion break, though. The kind of nothing that's censored out, that's people giving shiftily vague answers to questions, that's Rita's laptop spontaneously combusting into blue smoke. 

By the time Sunday rolls around, he's got a pretty much continual headache (spurred on by the fact that the sun didn't set Saturday night, so he got next to no sleep) and not a single lead on the underground army to show for it. 

He remembers Glass's promise of a call as soon as he wakes up from his half-doze, though, to a sun just as bright as an hour and a half ago when he closed his eyes. It motivates him enough that he gets out of bed, washes his hair (which is so stupid, Glass isn't even going to see him), and drops a caffeine pill to dissolve in his coffee. Rita'd yell at him, he can practically hear her shrill voice admonishing him about the dangers of caffeine, but she's not here, is she.

The hypercoffee, as he started calling it back when he drank it all the time as an intern, gives him the buzz he needs to get through today's show. No mentions of the underground city in the copy, and nothing about Glass, either. Just a couple humanoid dead bodies with extra legs out on Route 30, and a public service announcement that the sun not setting was a performance art piece put on by the God of Light and that they're taking donations on their Patreon. 

He heads home when the show's over, covers the blinds and plays idle games. He'd go over to Vicky's and ask her for some more spiderliquor, but doesn't want to risk life and limb and missing Glass's call.

The phone rings. How is it 9PM already?

"Hello, Juno," says Rex Glass's mellifluous voice. "How are you?" 

"Sleep-deprived as hell," Juno says, "and caught up in a stupid pointless investigation, but, well, welcome to Hyperion City, I guess. You?"

"Oh, you know, no complaints. Getting my bearings in town, I suppose. But tell me about your investigation!"   
  
Oh, hell no. Juno's not going to let him off so easy this time. He puts on his best  _ menacing community radio host _ voice. "Actually,  _ Rex,  _ you first. I feel like I don't know that much about you. What're you doing here, anyways? In Hyperion?"

"Ah!" He's clearly taken him by surprise. "I'm a researcher, Juno, I thought I'd told you already! Hyperion City is one of the most scientifically interesting communities in the world, and I am a very curious man. I wish to… to explore everything that makes this lovely town tick." 

It's a good answer. It's exactly the answer Juno's looking for, honestly. "Huh. That's fun." 

"Indeed. Really, Juno Steel, some of the things you here take as quotidian are just incredible." 

"You're telling me." If there's one way Juno doesn't want to spend the night, it's expounding on the oddness of Hyperion as a whole. So he changes the topic to exactly where he wants it to be. "A scientist, huh? You mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Interrogate away, Juno!" he warbles. "I'm always grateful for the chance to talk about my work, and especially to someone as lovely as you." 

"What the hell are you talking about? You've never even seen me." God, this guy is too much. 

"I have a  _ very  _ active imagination." 

Now, Juno doesn't even have the time to unpack all of that. "Okay. You know anything about, uh, underground stuff?" 

"I tend to stray more towards classical and jazz," Glass replies, "but I will say that one of my favorite bands only has twenty-four monthly listeners. If you're looking for recommendations—"

"What? I mean, like, earthquakes and stuff." He has to stop himself from adding  _ dumbass  _ to the end of the sentence. Doesn't want to bite the scientist who's teaching him.

"Only joking, Juno. Well, I'm no seismologist— I heard you asking for one on the radio— but I know a thing or two."

"D'you think, uh, is Hyperion City, like, on any fault lines or anything? Just 'cuz, uh, I was—" he suddenly remembers Vicky's ask for privacy— "just wondering, you know, how wild would it be if there was an earthquake here. Right? Like, that would be just crazy. I was worried that maybe my, uh, you know, the studio would collapse. So do you think there'd be one. Of those. Earthquakes."

Glass sounds confused, but he obliges. "There shouldn't be any need to worry about seismic activity around here, Juno. We're not in any sort of tectonic hot spot, for sure. If that assuages your fears at all."

"Sure," he says, "sure. Thanks. Helpful. And, uh— scientist, yeah? I don't s'pose you'd know anything about, like, anthropology?"

"I know a little bit about everything. It pays to be prepared, and a scientist is  _ always  _ prepared." Every time Juno thinks he's gotten used to the teasing, flirting note in Glass's voice, it returns with a vengeance to bite him in— no, bad metaphor. To get him. 

"Cool. Um, and oh hey, do you know anything about, like, underground cities? My… friend Rita… is, uh, is writing a book… about. Underground cities. With, uh, underground people in them. But, you know, she wants to do her research, so she… asked me to… ask you."  _ Fuck.  _

"I've heard of several," Glass answers amusedly. "Would she be writing, perchance, about miniature underground cities? Is the book set near the Valles Vicky's bowling alley, by any chance?"

"Oh, god, I'm such a bad liar," Juno sighs. "Sorry. Fuck. Vicky told me not to tell anyone, is all. But I guess she told you? Do you bowl? You know, I bowl there a lot, if you're free this—"

"Juno, dear," Glass silences him. "I'd love to go bowling with you at some point. But do tell me more about Vicky and the city. I think I may have only gotten the basest of the facts, and I'd like to be able to piece together more of the story."

  
  


It takes Juno almost half an hour to recount all of what Vicky's told him about the Lane Five ordeal, the story winding in places with a funny anecdote about what the door said to him, almost coming to a complete stop when Glass calls him  _ poor darling  _ in response to hearing about his ankle wound. 

"So yeah," Juno finished. "That's what I got, at least. Bad for business, huh?"

"Interesting," Glass says quietly. He's a good listener— he's been paying rapt attention the whole story, asking all the right leading questions. "And Mr. Valles didn't say anything about what else seems to be down there?"

"Oh," Juno remembers, "she mentioned, like, an egg or something. I dunno." 

"An egg?" He sounds startled, even more intrigued than previously. "Did she say anything about the nature of this egg?"

"Nah, just that they were putting a whole lotta weight into keeping it safe. Pretty funny, right? Maybe they like their omelets or something."

"Funny," Glass echoes. He's silent for a while.

"Uh, you okay over there?" Juno chances a glance into the Inn and Out, his Sight wavering for a second before fixing on Glass in his apartment. His hair is tied up into a bun, showing off his neck and jawline. He's clearly dressed down for the night, wearing nothing but boxers and a wrinkled, unbuttoned dress shirt over a binder, which, okay, maybe gets Juno's mouth watering just a little. 

Okay. Goddamnit. Focus. He's got— what the hell?— a  _ notebook,  _ and a  _ pen _ which Juno should really warn him against, doesn't want that pretty head to have to go through reeducation. He seems to have filled several pages with writing, though the Sight is too blurry to pick out exactly what. 

He makes another note on the page, just one word, then starts absently chewing on the other end of the pen. Juno tears his Sight away quickly, back to his dingy little apartment.

"Of course, of course!" Glass replies after a second. "Simply thinking, is all."

Juno would say something along the line of  _ thinking and taking notes?,  _ but snooping on someone in their own home (and in a relative state of undress, though that really wasn't his fault) is categorically a whole lot worse than writing during a phone call (excepting Pereyra's Secret Police, who are, by nature of their jobs, expected to do both). 

"Cool," he says instead. "So, uh. You said you wanted to go bowling at some point? 'Cuz in retrospect, that might not be the best idea… but how do you feel about grabbing dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill. LEAVE A COMMENT!! YELL AT ME ABOUT YOUR FAVORITE PARTS! ill love you forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno gets a slice like no other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weehee... chapter 3!! no content warnings in this one

_ Let's have a look at the Community Calendar. _

_ Monday, Death Mask Records is holding a sale on rock music. Not, like, rock music records, but specifically the concept of rock music. Cass Kanagawa, the owner of the shop, says it got all messed up in the 60s by those guys with bowl cuts, and she's hoping one of you guys can give it another shot and do it better.  _

_ Tuesday will be a happy accident. Put too much turmeric in your curry! Hang around the restaurant where the guy you've been eyeing works! Go buy a lottery ticket, even though you've never played before! Just go for it, what the hell.  _

_ Yad Sdrawkcab Ediwytic si Yadsendew. Sseug I won revetahw gniod tsuj er'ew esuaceb. _

_ Thursday is the Hyperion City Little League team's big game. They're up against the Arizona Cardinals, because the lover of one of the members of the Hyperion City Little League coordinators is really into speculative pillow talk, and wondered recently whether a pro football team could beat an amateur baseball team at baseball. _

_ Friday, there'll be a seminar on Librarian Safety at City Hall. For those who won't be able to attend, here's a brief editorialized summary. If you're close enough to a librarian to be able to recognize it for one, yeah, forget safety. Maybe open up a voice notes app and write a quick will. _

_ Saturday, local billionaire and socialite Nova Zolotovna is holding a charity gala. All proceeds will be donated to the local chapter of the SPWBS, which is the Society for the Promotion of the Welfare of Billionaires and Socialites. _

_ Sunday will be an unfortunate accident. City Council would like to announce that, oops, they really screwed this one up, huh. Real sorry about that. They can pay for the dry cleaning and reupholstering. _

_ In other news, listeners, there's a rumbling beneath Hyperion City. It started out deep, deep and quiet and almost unnoticeable, but as most of you have probably noticed, it's, uh, gotten… more. Worse? Who knows. Louder, for sure. Now its tremors make the ground shake like a leaf in the wind, like a wasp's nest, like the beat of a giant drum, or perhaps swaths of miniature ones.  _

_ My… sources… say we aren't in an area that should be getting any tectonic activity, plus also Pereyra's Secret Police released a statement that earthquakes are actually illegal. If that makes anyone feel any better.  _

_ Oh, right, and that reminds me. The ban on wisecracks has officially been lifted. Apparently there's a limit to how many arbitrary bans and moratoria our city can have imposed at a time. Figures that it's the dumb joke one and not the alcohol one, huh. Anyways, Mick's Pizzeria is offering a two-for-one deal on slices all weekend, in honor of _ —  _ ugh, god, this is so stupid _ — celebrating the cheesier things in life.  _ No one does a slice, et cetera.  _

  
  


Despite his disgust at the ad copy, Juno likes Mick and his slices more than he'd let on, and hey, free pizza is free pizza. 

"Hey, Rita," he calls as he's leaving the building. "You wanna come grab a slice with me? I haven't had my weekly one, anyway."

He doesn't even really know why he says it. Surprisingly, even without the usual booze, he's been in a better mood this week than in recent memory. Something about the thought of actually getting to see the suave scientist in person has motivated him. The last few days, he's woken up in the morning instead of the afternoon, put actual effort into personal hygiene, even gone so far as to buy a new outfit for the date (not a date, technically, he reminds himself, just getting food and chatting.)

Apparently that extends to being nice to Rita. Well, that, and the fact that she's been good about bringing him more coffee than usual. 

"You kiddin'?" she yells back from the other room. "Of course I do! Oh, boss, I can't remember the last time we went out and did something fun!"

"Rita, you dragged me to that godawful vampire movie two weeks ago."

"You call that  _ fun?  _ There weren't even any dirty jokes in it!" The sound of running footsteps grow louder down the hall, and then Rita bursts in through the door. "C'mon, Mistah Steel, I'm all ready!"

"Can you quiet down?" He rolls his eyes. "Don't want the office to know that I'm friends with an intern or I'll have an HR violation on my hands."

So off to Mick's they go. The usual crowd is milling around, both the regulars getting their mandated weekly slices and the poor victims of the time loop a few years back. The bell on the door chimes as Juno and Rita head in, and Mick Mercury himself looks over from in the kitchen and waves.

"Hey, Jay-Jay! Nice to see you for real! I thought now that you'd figured out Doordash you might never stop by again," he calls out, wiping grease from his hands onto his apron and heading out of the kitchen. "Just got done showing the new guy the ropes, so I hope you've got time to stay around and chat for a while!"

"I'm actually really busy," Juno starts to say, but Rita cuts him off.

"We got nothin' but time, Mistah Mercury! Mistah Steel woulda just gone home and sat around watching trashy soap operas, anyways."

"Rita." Juno groans, closing his eye. Mick smiles wide, like he's just been told that he won the lottery rather than that his… rather than that Juno didn't want to spend time with him. Which makes Juno feel like even more of an asshole. "Sorry. I didn't… it's nice to see you. Sure I can stick around to talk."

"Aw, Juno, y'don't have to! Really, it means a lot that you even stopped by today, I mean, I was worried you were turning into some kinda recluse or somethin'."

"Nah, still haven't gotten the hang of insect transmutation yet." 

"So, what can I do ya for?" Mick peers over the table. "And is this Intern Rita? I heard so much about her, I thought you mighta made her up!"

"Two slices with pepperoni, sausage, anchovies, marshmallow fluff, mushroom, and syrup for me," Rita rattles off the top of her head, standing on her tiptoes, "and two cheese slices for the boss. Hey, Mistah Steel, you talk about me?"

"Nothin' but good things," he rolls his eye. 

"Hey, Jay, that's not true! Remember the time that you said that—"

"I," Juno interjects, "am gonna go get us someplace to sit. You two hit it off over here." 

Letting the shrill cry of “Bossssss, what’d’ya say about me?” Doppler its way past him, he hauls his bag and bad attitude over to a wooden table in the yard under an umbrella, empty except for a Secret Police agent sitting in one of the four chairs.

"Hello, Juno," the agent says to him, her voice clearly filtered through a distorter. 

"Hey," he says, waving halfheartedly at her. She makes a note on her clipboard. He tries to glimpse it. "What're you writing?"

She pulls it close to her chest like a schoolgirl's diary. "We aren't Pereyra's Public Police, Juno. As nice as it would be to have that alliteration."

"Yeah, yeah, fine." He knows the law well enough. "Oh, hey, can I cash in a favor?"

"Any time."

"If you see the new guy— Glass, you know— don't drag him off for not eating at Mick's, or for using a pen, or something. Not that he'd do any of those! Just, you know. Cut him a little slack. For your—" he groans— "favorite community radio host's sake."

He can't see under her balaclava, but he imagines her eyebrows rising from her tone of voice when he passes her a little red token with yellow markings on it. "Wow, Steel, this is a really good favor. Are you sure you want to blow it on an interloper?"

"Hell do you think you are, my mom? Yes, I'm sure, or I wouldn't be talking to you in the first place."

She shrugs and sticks her hand under her mask, placing the favor in her mouth and swallowing. "Your loss, I guess. Anything I should be, uh, marking down in the Registry?"

"Fuck off!" he snaps. "Can't I just be nice to a new guy for once? And even if I did feel that way about him, you can't just  _ ask  _ a lady something like that!"

"Actually, I have legal authority to ask any sort of leading questions pertinent to official matters." 

"Fine, then, even if I did feel that way about him, I've still got a solid six weeks to report it. Now scram."

With a nod, the Secret Police agent stands up and fades into the backdrop. Juno really doesn't like talking to them that way, knows that the people spying on him are still  _ people  _ and deserve common decency. But, Christ, some days it feels like he just can't catch a break. Days ending with  _ -y,  _ pretty much, and the occasional ones ending with  _ -q _ . 

  
  


"Man, J, it's been so long since we got to really catch up!" Mick's brought their pizza out, and a couple cans of soda, as well. The Secret Police agent is still lurking in the background, but now she looks like she's gone back to just taking notes on who's having their weekly slices. 

"Yeah," Juno shrugs. "I guess."

"I mean, I really can't remember the last time we just, you know, hung out… was it all the way back with Sasha?"

"Dunno." He looks at Rita just so he doesn't have to meet Mick's eyes. She's seeing how far she can stretch a string of cheese from the pizza. He looks away. 

"Man, those were the days… staying up until two, telling dirty jokes about the moon, all those crazy adventures— remember, the double elephant in the principal's office? The car we got up on top of the lighthouse?"

"Mm." He pops open the Pepsi, enjoys the satisfying sound of the can opening. It's a snippet of Bach, this time, so they must be trying out some new promotion. He's still got the Mozart ones at home. 

The awful truth is, he really doesn't remember. Just another one of the shitty things this town's done to him, he thinks. He really doesn't want to avoid Mick, knows he's a good friend, really, one of the few people to have stupidly stuck by Juno throughout all his shit. 

But unlike the station, unlike Rita, and, god, unlike Glass… Mick's tied up in a whole lot of stuff Juno would rather forget.  _ A whole lot of stuff _ consisting of a couple names never spoken again, an eye, a smile exactly like his but brighter, better.

"You okay, Juno? The pizza's fine, right?" Mick's hand is on his shoulder. Rita's staring up at him expectantly. By the looks on their faces, he's been zoned out for a while now.

"Sorry. Got one of the new feelings deliveries they're trying out," he lies. Well, it might be the truth. They don't make themselves known when they come. "Ennui, I think."

"Oh, man, those are the best!" Mick grins, then looks confused. "Well, not ennui, probably. I got one the other day that was  _ ambition _ , and boy, you shoulda seen how many crossword puzzles I churned out!" 

"That's… great, Mick. Real great."

"Ooh!" Rita pipes up. "Speaking of feeeeelings! Mistah Mercury, have you heard about the new guy in town?" 

"Shut  _ up,  _ Rita!"

"Oh, you mean Rex Glass? Yeah, actually, I heard Juno talkin' about him on the radio, and we don't get a lot of strangers round here, so I figured I'd send him a slice of pizza before his week was up, but then he came down here on his own! Can you believe it?"

" _ What? _ " That had been one of Juno's good favors, goddamn it. He can't believe he wasted one, especially now that he probably could've cashed it in for a half-full bottle of booze. And hey, how did a scientist figure out one of the rules of Hyperion, huh? 

"Yeah! He was a real nice guy, too. Asked me how business was going, hung around for a while reading through some file, the works."

"Nice," Juno scoffs. "Sure. He's  _ nice,  _ I guess. You could say that about him."  _ If you're the only straight guy in Hyperion City,  _ he mentally amends. 

"Hey, Jay-jay, you look kinda worked up! Are you sure the pizza's okay?"

"Mistah Steel just reeeeeally likes Glass is all!" Rita's really testing the  _ not physically possible to fire her  _ thing today, apparently. "You know, they talked a few times!"

"No kiddin'! What name did he tell you?" 

"Hell are you talking about, Mick?" Isn't  _ Rex Glass  _ a memorable enough name?

"Oh, you know, like, he came in here and introduced himself as Regulus Mica! And I was gonna say, hey, my buddy over on the radio said your name was Rex, but then I was like, no, gotta be some custom from where he comes from to use a fake name! And then he sat down and got to work or whatever he was doing."

That's. Well. He files it away, wishes he had his notebook and contraband pen to make a note of it. If nothing more sinister, at least it'll be something to tease him about at their d— their  _ meeting _ if conversation slows down.

Anyways. He figures if he keeps talking about Glass (Mica??), he'll let something embarrassing slip. 

"You know, Mick, so how has business been?" It's a stupidly obvious attempt at changing the topic, so he's lucky that he's out to lunch with maybe the two people in the world less versed in the fine art of conversation than he himself. 

"Oh, you know, little'a this, little'a that. Same as usual, mostly, probably 'cuz of the whole weekly requirement thing. Great for business, though. An' keeping up to date on what's what, who's who, you know."

"Do tell." 

Mick's not the best with sarcasm. It's one of the reasons their friendship worked so well. "Lemme think! Uh, Old Woman Buddy came through a few days ago, with one of her— beings, told me about this new theory she's got about what's at the center of the Earth."

Rita brightens. "Oh, I love talkin' about stuff like that! I might just have to drop by an' talk to her sometime, 'cuz now that's got my brain all turnin' and if I had to guess I think that there's probably another Earth just like ours but inside out and in another dimension, 'cuz that's what makes sense if you think about it—" She pulls out her comms mid-sentence and starts typing rapidly.

"Juno, you got a real smart intern here!" Mick looks… genuinely impressed. Which is wild. "Oh, speakin' of, Cecil was in here too, watched me make the pizza. He says he likes how the sauce looks like the blood of the innocent, but I think deep down he's really into cooking. I got this dream that one of these days he'll ask me if he can get a job here, you know?"

"Sure."

"Sweet guy, sweet guy. Who else… oh, Vicky, your ol' pal Vicky! She was by here, too, looked real upset about something. And, you know, Mick Mercury's all ears, so I gave her a shoulder to cry on."

"Metaphor doesn't even make sense," he grumbles. "Business still bad down at the Alley, then?"

"I dunno about business, but apparently she lost her key to the back room, and on that exact same day, the window to her house got broken! Musta been a bad day for her zodiac sign."

"Wait, hold on." This is new. "Vicky got  _ robbed? _ "

"You think she got robbed? Really?" Mick's clearly shocked. Poor kid thinks of Hyperion as a safe haven. Never been able to see between the glowing lines in the sky and understand that sometimes, shit just happens. 

"Someone broke her window and stole her key, Mick, what the hell do you think happened?"

"She coulda just lost the key, Jay, you don't gotta be so negative all the time! And maybe the birds have just been growin' stronger beaks and one of them crashed into the window."

"Whatever." Juno sighs. The idea of someone robbing Vicky Valles is alien to him, and he can't help but wonder what it might all have to do with all the Lane Five business. 

Well. Maybe he'll get to the bottom of it this time. More likely, he'll get in too deep and the bottom'll keep falling out from under him until he's falling down a bottomless pit. 

Sounds like a fun way to spend a few weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres a little and very subtle reference in here to the best movie ever and anyone who catches it wins ten million dollars
> 
> you know the drill. kudos and comment folks. kudos and comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno has a date. It goes better than he'd expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter youve all been waiting for folks. this is the good one.
> 
> no content warnings here!

"Table for one?" says the host at the Moonlight All-Night Diner. 

"Two," Juno says. "Waiting for someone."

"Oh!" The host looks intrigued. "I hadn't heard you mention it on the radio."

"Yeah, well, it's a community radio show, not a documentary on the sad life of a single reporter."

"Apologies," they say, waving a wing embarrassedly. "Should I show you to your table?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm gonna wait here for him." He looks back out the window, watching the street traffic, heart beating just a little too fast to be excused as normal. 

The few days after the pizza talk with Mick had been dull, all things considered. City Council had lifted the ban on alcohol, to Juno's great elation. Juno had suffered a hangover, to his mild annoyance. Rita'd gone and talks to Old Woman Buddy about the center of the earth. The rumbling under Hyperion had gotten louder. (He can hear it even now, across town from the Alley.)

And now, inexplicably, time being weird like that, it's the night of his… goddamn it, Steel, just own it. His date. With Glass. With Mica? He's not quite sure. 

What he  _ is  _ sure about is that he's been allowing himself little glances at him during the week. Just for a few seconds at a time, and strictly between the hours of 11AM and 5PM. Just so he doesn't go into the date unprepared. Just so he's ready, for the points of Glass's teeth, the line of his jaw, the look in his eye… yeah. Just so he's ready. 

Glass hasn't been doing anything out of the ordinary, at least not for Juno's ideal of what a scientist should do in his free time. There'd been a lot of reading, some paging through papers and looking frustrated, the occasional blood rite. Nothing out of place, really, except a few less blood rites than Juno would expect. Well, he's new.

Juno looks back out the window just in time to see a motorbike pull up in front of the diner. Could that be— yes, he's taking his helmet off now, his hair up in a ponytail. And, wow. 

He's a sight for a sore eye.

Juno's suddenly very glad that he hadn't worn his usual black turtleneck, blue jeans, and trench coat (a staple outfit for radio hosts of lore), having instead gone for a yellow sundress that's gotten him a few glances on the way down, with matching eye shadow, and a thin gold chain and gold beads in his locs. He'd only been planning on the dress, but he'd had to come here straight from the station, and Intern Rita had begged and then blackmailed him into letting her pretty him up a little.

It's a good thing, too, because Glass is dressed to kill. To kill Juno specifically, that is. He's wearing a loose, gauzy, almost-transparent shirt that's falling off one of his shoulders and giving Juno a prime view of his chest and collarbone, a long purple skirt that leaves about as much to the imagination as Juno's reporting on a good day, and these black heeled boots that must add at least a few unnecessary inches. Juno has to stop himself from staring as soon as he sees him.

He brings an air of regality with him when he comes through the door, spotting Juno after a few seconds despite Juno's instinct to curl up, hide, or run straight through the diner's plate-glass window. And if Juno had been worried all week about calling this a date, well, Glass kills that nervousness in a second flat.

"Juno, dear," he says by way of greeting. "Our conversations have been lovely, but I must say, nothing could have prepared me for how  _ beautiful  _ you are."

"Wuh," Juno says. "Uh, I, buh… I mean, um, you're. Um. Hi, Rex."

He smiles, a pointed and pointy grin that should really be illegal, most likely is against some archaic rule that Juno could try and remember if he didn't feel like he'd been dunked into a pot of boiling oil. 

"Hello, Juno. It's nice to meet you." 

He takes Juno's arm as they walk to their table like they're at a five-star restaurant instead of a cheap, cozy diner. It's a small booth, in the corner of the diner. Glass's foot brushes against his as they sit down and Juno dies a little. Which definitely means it's been  _ too long  _ since he'd been on a date. 

They make polite conversation for a bit— _you hear about the rumbling under the_ _okay wait stupid question, never mind; so how do you like living here eh it's fine except this town is actively trying to kill all of us; what's good here oh you should try the tofu burger._

The waitress comes over, the one with the oak tree branches for arms, and they order (the tofu burger for Glass, a Klein burrito for Juno). 

"So." Juno says, just because the silence is getting awkward.

"So?" Glass asks.

Juno's fatally miscalculated. Silence was awkward, but sitting here being prompted for a question with nothing much to say is even more so. So he opens his big mouth, and—

"I heard you lied about your name. At the pizza shop." Aw, fuck. 

Glass is startled, clearly, and probably more than a little miffed. "My, Juno," his tone is a little clipped. "That Sight of yours is certainly perceptive."

"Not the Sight. Just got friends in high places. Like good ol' Mick Mercury."

"I see. Well, it's a little embarrassing, to be honest." Glass's tone has gone mostly back to normal, apparently now that he realizes Juno hasn't been magic-eavesdropping on his conversations. Which, on the one hand, means he's definitely got something to hide. On the other hand… well, Juno likes an amicable date, even one up to something, more than an upset one. 

"I feel like with how most of our conversations have gone so far, it's your turn to be a little embarrassed." 

"Touché." He nods, taking a sip of water. "All it is is that I'd been called  _ interloper _ several times, even in the past day. I suppose I was just wondering whether they knew from my name or my face. So I ran a test, just as we scientists love to do. Your friend Mick was awfully nice, at any rate."

Hm. Okay. Plausible, if definitely a little embarrassing. "Hey, speaking of, how'd you even know to eat there?" Then another thing occurs to him. "And how'd you know about my Sight?"

"So many questions, Juno! Well, I'll answer these one at a time."

"Sorry."

Glass waves his hand. "Not at all. I'm more than flattered by your interest. In the nature of a reporter, I suppose. As for the first one, I had not yet heard of the requirement when I went to eat at Mercury's. It was lucky that I do enjoy pizza quite a lot."

"And about me?"

He blushes, just a little. Juno gets the feeling that that's not something he does very often. It's cute on him. "I heard your voice on the radio, Juno, and I must say I was… enchanted. I asked around about you for several days before our first call, and found one of your acquaintances who seemed very eager to tell me all about you."

"Oh, god. Not Rita?"

"Rita? No, I don't think so. He said his name was Cecil?"

Juno chokes on a non-orientable bite of burrito.

"Juno, dear! Are you quite all right?" Glass hovers halfway between standing up and sitting down, and Juno makes a mental calculation— if he keeps choking, he probably won't have to talk about Cecil Kanagawa, and he might die, which would mean he'd never have to think about Cecil again, but on the other hand, he'd never get to go any further with Glass, but on the third hand, if he really got into it, maybe Glass would give him CPR or something—

An oak branch thwunks him in the back. He coughs up a little bit of burrito. The waitress rolls her eyes at him.

"You didn't fill out the municipal forms for dying, you know." She walks away on her rooted appendages.

"I suppose we'll be tipping her thirty percent," Glass says as a way to fill the silence.

"Listen," Juno says after a second. "If you want to just, you know, get out of here now, I won't count it against you. 'Cuz that was  _ really  _ embarrassing for me too, I promise. But just so you know, whatever Cecil told you about me—"

"Was all terribly interesting, and mostly things that I immediately disproved with a quick glance at your Facebook. Though I  _ am  _ interested about the time you showed up to one of his parties dressed up as a—"

Juno indicates his burrito. "If you finish that sentence, I'll shove you into this thing, and it doesn't even have an inside." 

"Duly noted," Glass demurs. "I'll drop the topic, then. But the Sight, Juno, that's very interesting. Were you born with it? Or was—"

"Glass," Juno warns, his voice dangerous. "I think it would be a good idea for you to drop  _ this _ topic, too."

"Of course. Well, tell me, then, Juno..." 

One more chance. He'll give him  _ one  _ more chance, just because his smile is a little dimpled at the sides, because his hand is hovering just next to Juno's like they're schoolkids at a movie, because Glass is looking at him with… admiration. Adoration, maybe. A way Juno hasn't been looked at in a long time. So, one more chance.

"Mr. Kanagawa mentioned that you've got a pet rabbit down at the station. I myself am more fond of cats, but I hope you'll change my mind. What's his name?"

There. A  _ normal  _ date question. One that Juno's happy to talk about, even. 

He's glad.

  
  


Despite the rocky start, the rest of the dinner goes... surprisingly really well. Juno expounds on the virtues of Small Fry, Glass gets him laughing about one incident with a hairless cat, they wind up sharing a chocolate and guacamole banana split. 

They hide the money under the coffee cup (tipping 30 percent, naturally), Juno does the necessary rite, and then they walk out together to the parking lot.

"I had a wonderful time tonight, Juno," says Glass, reaching for his helmet.

"Yeah." Juno nods, shifting from foot to foot. Should he—?

"Dear, if you have something to say, please tell me. You're making me nervous."

"Just. Um. Don't put on the helmet just yet."

"Oh?" Even in the dark, Glass's smile is dazzling. The light of the moon and the neon of the Moonlite luminate his canines, sharp and tempting, and reflect in his dark eyes.

Juno leans forwards, backing Glass up against the motorbike, and kisses him. 

He tastes like chocolate ice cream, Juno notices. He smells like expensive cologne, heady but not overused, and a little like gasoline. He  _ is,  _ inarguably  _ is,  _ present and solid and explainable in a way so many things in Hyperion City aren't.

Then Glass starts kissing back, and Juno isn't able to notice much of anything more. He tries to keep it chaste, he really does, but, well, the mind and the body have different ideas. Glass's tongue swipes against the backs of his teeth, his hands curling in the fabric of Juno's sundress. Juno throws an arm around his back, tries to pull him closer, closer.

Eventually they break apart. 

"Huh," says Juno. "Wow." His lips are a little numb.

"Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous," says Glass. 

"Don't need to worry about my car," Juno says. "I walked here. If that motorbike fits two, I'll give you directions back to my place. It's a little messy, but, um—"

"No trouble at all," replies Glass. "I'm certain it's not as bad as my place."

He puts his helmet on, sits down on the bike. "I'll drive safely. Wrap your arms around my waist, Juno."

"With pleasure." 

The wind blows against his face on the way. It's neat.

There's forms to fill out, really just a ridiculous amount. Glass, an outsider, is equal parts amused and embarrassed. That's neat, too. 

He's late to work next morning. It's hard to get out of bed on a normal day, even harder when a certain someone's got his long arms and legs all wrapped around him, murmuring to him to ask for  _ just five more minutes, Juno, what's the worst Station Management can do? _ God, he'd forgotten how  _ neat  _ this was. 

But the neatest part? They've got plans to see each other again. And again and again, hopefully. And to call each other, nights they're both too busy.

Even in a town built on unfathomable tragedy and unpredictability, hey. A lady can get lucky sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how about that huh. how about that. 
> 
> KUDOS AND COMMENT!! PLEASE!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno runs an errand for Station Management.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. the plot's kicking off, huh. getting good.
> 
> content warnings on this one for relatively graphic descriptions of violence and death. nothing too much worse than canon but be careful with this one

_...so we just want to remind you all, more impolitely this time, that it is absolutely and strictly forbidden to look at, think about, dream about, and— hey, really, guys, you know who you are, we know who you are, so really think on this next part, because wow, that was stupid of you— kiss the hooded and incorporeal figures surrounding the dog park. _

_ Speaking of kissing. Many listeners have written in to the station to ask about a certain man they've seen me with a couple times in the last week. And to those interested listeners, I'll tell you this— fuck off and mind your own beeswax, okay? Even if we were getting to know each other little by little, learning how to be in a relationship, and even if he were really incredible at kissing and talking and, you know, stuff, it wouldn't be any of your business.  _

_ Station Management told me I gotta thank you all for your interest, so, you know, whatever. Thanks or something. _

_ In other news, a truck carrying domesticated cats and a truck carrying rabid feral mice have crashed on Interstate 19, so expect some— uh, hi? Hi, um… okay? What— can you read? It says ON AIR, do you know what that— _

_ Sorry for the interruption, listeners. There's a… blank-eyed child standing in my booth. He's holding a slip of paper. Oh, come on, you're not one of the soulless vessel messengers, are you? I thought City Council banned those! _

_ Okay. Okay.  _

_ [SOUNDS OF PAPER UNFOLDING]  _

_ Oh, it's a… Listeners, uh, breaking news. There's a… huh. What? Okay. This is new. Apparently, there's a… sure. Huh. Some concerned citizen has reported an entity, of some sort, at the Hyperion City Public Library. Now, usually I'd be able to tell you a whole lot about this entity and everything it's doing, which would probably be 'being torn to shreds by librarians', but, uh. I can't See it? With my, you know. You know. I'm Looking at the library and everything, but there's nothing— _

_ Oh, okay, okay. I guess I shoulda read this whole thing before, you know. Apparently there is not just an entity at the Hyperion City Public Library, there's an entity at the Hyperion City Public Library defying all forms of memetic control, hypnotism— which, okay, editorial, those mean the exact same thing, who wrote this letter—, City Council guidelines, librarian attacks, and, uh, I guess, add one mostly omniscient reporter's limited omniscience to the list.  _

_ You know, I'd say that this was just some kid playing a prank, but now that I think about it, the librarians do look a little… agitated. I've never seen an agitated librarian before, and hopefully I never will, but, yeah, looks like they're all mad about something.  _

_ Well. Keep that in mind, I guess, Hyperion City. Good thing that I don't have any business over at the— _

_ [SOUND OF STATION MANAGEMENT’S AGITATED GRUMBLING] _

_ What? What the hell do you guys want? I'm sorry for cursing on the air, okay? I just— oh, come on, not another one of the dead-eyed kids, this is really getting old. _

_ Okay. Sorry for the disturbance, listeners. This one's got a black letter with a blood-red seal on it, so, yeah, orders right from the top. Lemme just— _

_ [THE LETTER OPENS WITH AN ELDRITCH HOWL] _

_ Ooookay. Or that, too. Listeners, it's— oh, come on. No way. No fucking way. You've got to be kidding me. No. Not happening.  _

_ [THE GROWLS OF STATION MANAGEMENT GROW IN VOLUME, OPPRESSIVE AND DRONING] _

_ Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm not your fucking pawn. Okay? Not your  _ fucking  _ pawn! You can't just— just because there's a prophecy, doesn't mean that I—  _ ah!  _ Fuck— ow— no, come on, you already took the other one, what good is a Sightless reporter? Please, please, god, lay off, I'm sorry, I'll— you can't be serious about me going to the library, nobody comes back from there alive, I—  _ ow,  _ shit shit shit, ahffff— fine! _

_ Fine. Fine. You know what? Fuck it. Lay off my eye, and I'll go. But you're losing your best reporter, just so you know.  _

_ [QUIETER, TALKING JUST TO HIMSELF] _

_ It's fine. Knew this was gonna happen someday all along. God. Librarians. _

_ [ONCE AGAIN IN THE RADIO CADENCE] _

_ Listeners, I dunno if you'll hear from me again. But I guess I could end the show every night saying that, hah. For now, as I go pulled by the strings of prophecy, fate, and a  _ really  _ shitty job contract off to face what lies in the library, I take you all… to the weather.  _

_ [HE MOVES AWAY FROM THE MICROPHONE, LEAVING THE RECORDING STUDIO] _

_ Hey, Intern Rita! Tell Vicky that I said she can take over the show, if, you know. I think she was joking, but hey, I'll do anything for a bit.  _

  
  


The drive to the library's painstaking, the fifteen minute trip stretching like glow-in-the-dark putty. Juno's just glad he isn't walking, doesn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from turning back and running out of the city limits. In the car, at least, he can turn on the radio, roll down the windows, and try not to panic.

He's seen a librarian, just once, when his school did a unit on the many things that can kill you. It was dead and preserved, of course, but Juno figures that they're no prettier alive. From the horror stories he's heard, and the ones he hasn't heard, he can piece together about what his odds are of coming out of there alive, and they're not promising.

Juno thinks for a second about calling Glass, then decides against it. He knows all too well how much it hurts to have a voicemail be your last memory of someone, what it's like to open up your missed messages on a day altogether pretty normal and watch as everything comes shattering down.

A part of him also worries that Glass would try to save him, try to be his knight in scientific armor. There are so many reasons he doesn't want that that he has trouble even wrapping his head around the idea. No, better to let him go about his scientific day, find out about what happened from the vague and faux-heartfelt eulogy on the radio. 

Before he knows it, and after an eternity, he's there. He steps out of his car, slowly makes the funeral march towards the library. 

On a whim, he turns around and tries to start walking back to the car. He makes it just a few steps before pain spikes through his good eye, sickeningly intense and sickeningly familiar. His Sight wavers, blinks out of focus, and for a second he sees nothing at all except for a dark planet, lit by no sun. 

God. Okay. Fine. Station Management's still on his ass, then.

This isn't the first time they've sent him to investigate something he can't See, but it's for sure the deadliest. Probably Station Management's gotten tired of him, maybe even wrote and sent the letter to themselves in order to get Juno out of there. Or maybe they just don't understand how fragile humans are. 

Juno understands that, all too well, as he unbarricades the library door and steps inside. He's deeply aware of all his organs where they should be, all his blood still inside his veins like usual, all the mechanism and homeostasis that will most likely cease to be very shortly. 

Fuck it. He doesn't back down from a challenge.

He walks inside.

The library is dark, fluorescent lights winking in and out. It’s quiet inside, at first, no sound except a distant crunching like old paper being torn up and eaten. 

He starts past the checkout area. Printers and computers with disturbing stains watch him silently as he walks past, all senses primed to run. No librarians yet, which he’s honestly a little miffed about. Even being devoured alive by the most horrible beings known to humankind couldn’t suck as much as this slow, creeping dread. 

The air is cool and damp, with the scent of rot and old books, as he continues deeper into the library. Past the biography section with the painting of Abraham Lincoln whose eyes follow you soundlessly wherever you go. Past the kids’ book section, the mummified corpse of Dr. Seuss hanging from two taut wires like a disturbing marionette. 

As he makes his way back into the archives of old Hyperion City newspapers, there’s a sound behind him. His heart pounds in his chest like the grand finale of a fireworks show. Slowly turning around, he sees—

a figure. Tall, thin, cloaked in shadow. It’s too dark back here to make out much else. At first, he thinks it might be one of Them, but then he notices what it’s doing. Skulking along the wall, looking side to side rapidly, taking one silent step forward then pausing, waiting, for a full minute.

Could this be what he’s looking for? He can’t use his Sight, not now, can’t let himself get distracted from his perilous surroundings. 

But he’s a reporter. If not at heart, then by contract. He moves towards the figure. Slowly. Step by step.

He tries to walk quietly, he really does, but it seems to sense him before he’s close enough to make out anything else, and ducks behind another shelf. 

Juno can’t let him get away. Can’t let Station Management get his other eye, goddamn it. So, running on instinct, terror, and fumes, he does something very stupid.

“Hey!” he calls out. Quietly, quietly, but, shit. The sound rings through the silent library like a bell, echoing back and back until it dies off. 

And that’s when he feels the hot breath on the back of his neck.

Wet, acrid, acidic enough to make the skin there ache. His fight-or-flight response kicks in, but his limbs don’t respond, and in whipping his head around, he trips over his own feet and stumbles. 

His eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness enough to see what stands in front of him, as he falls in slow-motion. It’s definitely not what he would’ve chosen to be the last thing he sees, but he can’t deny that it’s grotesquely interesting. 

The librarian is an enormous shambling beast, ten feet tall at least. It’s indescribable, quite literally, its form shifting between monstrosities in front of Juno’s eye. It makes him dizzy, like when he’s used the Sight for too long, and he’s having trouble focusing on it as it warps and shivers like a mirage in the sun. It’s no mirage, though, that’s clear, as it rears back and hisses a spray of hot venom straight at his face. 

An arm— no, a tentacle— wraps around his back, catching him before he hits the ground. Its suckers burn into him, searing straight through his poor coat. He feels bile rise in his throat, from the pain, from the mind-bending impossibility of it, from the knowledge that whatever it had planned for him wasn’t going to be quick at all.

The beast’s neck snaps itself with a gristly sound and reforms, growing longer in front of Juno’s blurry vision, head coming closer to Juno’s shoulder and then it  _ bites,  _ teeth rending flesh, consciousness-rending pain. 

Claws pierce his sides, and the homunculus-map of his body in his mind informs him that they’ve definitely hit something critical. Blood pours from his shoulder at a really alarming rate as the creature continues its assault against his vital organs, and as black spots cloud his vision, he feels just the smallest twinge of victory. He’d pass out soon, then. If the librarian had wanted to play with its food, it had misjudged. 

He hears the announcement in his head.  _ To the family and—  _ hah, nope.  _ To the friends and acquaintances of Radio Host Juno Steel, he was an okay lady, all things considered, and now he isn’t anything at all. _

Everything blurs together into more claws, too many claws, opening gashes across his chest— 

the venom again, white-hot against his exposed nerves—

regret, regret and rage and resignation at this being how he goes, a puppet to the city’s whims to the end—

the smell of strong coffee and blood and castor oil and his own vomit mixing, clouding—

and then, nothing but pain—

and then, nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: discussion of death, injury, and medical stuff

The first thing that Juno Steel hears after being brutally killed by a librarian is the theme song for the web series  _ Werewolves in Space.  _

Which is weird. But, what the hell, he’s never been particularly theistic or anything. Maybe it’s all part of some big dreamscape, and now he’s got some riddle to figure out before he can pass onto the next life. 

It’s dark, wherever he is, dark and relatively quiet and not much else. He can’t catch onto any of his thoughts well enough to try and figure out what’s going on. They’re scattered and distant. 

The second thing that he hears after being torn apart into little hydrochloric-acid-scented scraps is a beeping sound. Sure. Maybe it’s the neurons firing in his dying brain sending out a distress signal. 

The third thing he hears, after a while of just floating, just drifting, is his intern’s voice. He can’t quite tell what she’s yelling, but he recognizes the rushed cadence, words spilling out of her and crashing into him like rocks down a hill. 

A door opens and closes. A voice he only vaguely recognizes— surly, growly, overworked— says something, to him or to Intern Rita, but he still can’t focus enough to make out most of the words. 

“—still asleep. Give’im a couple more hours. Idiot went up against a librarian and lost bad, he’s not gonna be happy when he wakes up.”

Oh, come on, that’s just not fair. Not like he really had much of a choice. He tries to say as much, but what he hears himself say instead is just a jumbled mix of consonants. 

Rita’s ensuing shriek startles him into opening his eyes. Oh. Okay. So that’s why it was dark. 

He’s in… a room. Not exactly a Holmesian deduction, but hey, he’s going through it. Light blue wallpaper, unpatterned. A single bed with thin sheets. An IV drip plugged into the crook of his arm. He doesn’t think it’s the Hyperion City General Hospital, which he’s all too familiar with, but that fact is too confusing for him to try and wrap his head around right now. 

Rita’s there, hovering by the bedside, laptop tossed aside into an armchair that looks very much out of place in the pseudo-sickbay. A green-haired lady who he recognizes from around town is messing with the steadily beeping heart rate monitor he’s hooked up to. 

There’s also a shape in the corner of the room. It’s tall, looming, many-limbed, but unlike the librarian, it radiates a comforting, almost rapturous, energy. It stares at him. Juno stares back for a second. 

He recognizes what it is, though he legally can’t say it, and from there, it’s just one quick mental jump to knowing where he is. The light hurts his eyes, so he closes them again.

“M’awake,” he mutters.

“Took you long enough,” says the green-haired woman— Old Woman Buddy’s wife, right. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Juno says. He takes a second to think about the answer. Now that he’s dialed in on it, his chest hurts like hell, like he’s been hit by a particularly sharp train. His mouth and head both feel like they’ve been stuffed full of cotton balls. He’s got a nasty headache. 

All signs which point to him being alive, the angel in the room notwithstanding.

“Not a trick question,” she snaps. Oh, right. 

“Shitty?” he says, making a cursory effort to sit up. The pain almost knocks him right back out again.

“No kidding.” She sets a cup of water down on the table by the bed, amidst various pill bottles, needles, and implements. “You’re maxed out on OTC painkillers, though. Your secretary filled me in on your, uh, allergies and stuff. Have her yell for me if you need anything else. But just so you know, I’m a busy girl, so don’t call me in here to fluff your pillow or some shit.” And with that, she leaves, slamming the door.

Juno lets out a low whistle. “Talk about bedside manner, huh?” he says, turning to Intern Rita, who’s… 

aw, shit. Who’s got one hand covering her mouth, clearly trying and failing to hold back tears. 

“Mistah _Steel_!” she shouts. “Oh, boss, I was so worried about you, I was so worried!! When you left the studio like that, and I thought you were just going to investigate somethin’ dangerous or somethin’, and then I got that text from the unlisted number that said that you were real hurt and I had to go up to Old Woman Buddy’s place as soon as I could, and then I got there and you were all sliced open and bleeding and you looked  _ really really dead  _ and Ms. Vespa said you’d been got by a  _ librarian  _ and, boss, I was—” she trails off, head dropping, tears tracking down her face from below her glasses. 

“I was really worried,” she finishes quietly. 

God. Maybe it’s the pain and exhaustion, or maybe the vulnerability so clear on Rita’s face, but Juno feels… a little sick, honestly. He’d somehow gone this long without getting really fucked up, and had never stopped to consider the fact that someone might worry about him if. If something happened. 

“Sorry,” he says. The word feels odd in his mouth, which is funny given how often he agonizes over his own guilt. (Usually the people he wants to apologize to aren’t around anymore, his brain supplies.)

“It’s okay, Mistah Steel,” Rita says with a wavering smile. “Jus’ promise me that next time you’re gonna go into somethin’ real nasty like that, you gotta call me first.”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes. “Yeah, okay. But I don’t think I’ll be out of this bed for a while.”

“That’s okay, boss.” Rita pats his head awkwardly, and Juno almost laughs despite himself. “D’you want me to put on a movie or something?”

He goes to shrug, then remembers that his whole chest and torso is a warzone, and instead just moves his head from side to side. “If you want. I think I’m gonna try and go back to sleep.”

“S’a good idea, Mistah Steel.” She sits back down in the out-of-place armchair.

The angel continues staring at him as he falls asleep.

  
  


When he wakes up, Rita’s gone, and the light streaming through the blinds has turned red with sunset. His chest is no better, but his head is a little less foggy. There’s a faintly pleasant herbal smell in the room, too, which is new. 

He looks around, moving his neck as little as possible, and spots the source. A mug of tea sits on the table, now, next to the water.

“What the hell?” he says aloud. “Rita wouldn’t even know how to boil water, and Buddy’s wife was being so—”

“Dr. Ilkay did not make you tea,” says a booming, echoing voice. “I did.”

Juno startles and bonks his head against the headboard. “What the f—”

“Do not be afraid,” says the angel. “It is important to stay hydrated, and I have found that this specific blend of tea helps with pain as well.”

“O...kay,” Juno stares. He reaches out his arm, which is shaking a little, embarrassingly, and takes a sip of tea. 

It’s just normal tea, at least as far as he can tell. Earl Grey, maybe? He’s no connoisseur. Still, the being was right on one count, as the first sip takes the edge off his headache. 

“Hey, thanks,” he says to the being. “So, you’re, uh, are you a…” It’s a rhetorical question, but he has to ask.

“An angel,” it finishes. A siren goes off. “And I have been tasked with overseeing your recovery, as Ms. Aurinko is very busy dealing with an ex-friend and Dr. Ilkay does not like you.”

“Yeah, well, you can tell her the feeling’s mutual, okay?” A week ago, Juno didn’t think his life could get any weirder, but now, being nursemaided by an all-powerful being he can’t legally acknowledge, it’s gotten there. 

“I will not be doing so. She stayed up for thirty-six hours saving your life. I would suggest you thank her, but I do not think she would appreciate it.”

“Never asked her to save me,” he grumbles halfheartedly. “But fine.” He drains the teacup, then the water. 

“And yet she did so anyway.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I’m the voice of the town, yadda yadda. The beating heart of Hyperion City,” he says sarcastically. 

“No,” the angel corrects. “Because you were alive, and she did not want that to change. Your position in the town had nothing to do with it.”

“Bleeding-heart liberals, huh?” Juno quips. The angel stares him down, unamused. “Hey, big guy, that was a joke.” 

“I am aware.”

“I dunno about you guys, but humans usually laugh at those.”

“I was under the impression,” says the angel, “that humans do not laugh at things they do not find funny.”

Juno glowers. 

“Are you thirsty?” the angel changes the subject. “Or hungry?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Juno nods. He feels awkward being cared for by, a, well, you know, but doesn’t see much alternative besides starving in Old Woman Buddy’s guest room. "Hey, uh, also?"

"Yes, Juno Steel?"

"Do you have, like, a name? I don't want Station Management  _ and  _ City Council both on my ass, but I gotta call you something if you're gonna be my—" he scoffs— "caretaker."

The angel thinks about this for a second.

"I have been called many things," it says. "But you may call me Jet Siquliak. I also did not mind when you referred to me as 'big guy'."

"Sure." Juno nods. "Okay. Thanks, Jet."

"There is nothing to thank me specifically for," he replies. "As much as it may hurt you to realize it, Juno Steel, this town cares for you more than it lets on."

And then he leaves. Leaving Juno to mull that over and stare at the ceiling. 

  
  


Juno falls asleep once again pretty shortly after eating the toast and butter that Jet brought him. It's no Klein burrito, but he feels a whole lot better having eaten and drank. Still feels like he got hit by a truck full of knives, but a little less like the knives were poisoned.

When he wakes up, Buddy Aurinko's sitting in the armchair, leafing through a newspaper. 

She's something of a local celebrity to the people of Hyperion City, just for the longevity she seems to promise to young people and the friendship she offers, not freely, but openly, to others. It's not hard to see why, when you're in a room with her, right up close with her scarred, age-lined face still radiating shrewdness and  _ joie de vivre. _

He hasn't seen her in person since last League Night, almost a month and a half ago. "Hey, Buddy," he says, lifting his head as much as he can. 

"Hello, Juno." She sets down the newspaper, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him expectantly.

"Uh," he starts, "I don't really know what to say. Thanks for, uh, letting me stay here?"

Buddy laughs at this, and Juno scowls a little. He can't take it too personally, though. It was a pretty dumb thing to say. "Juno, darling, it's just because you're such a lovely houseguest. I wish more people would follow your lead— I'm considering replacing our guestbook with a section of the rug to bleed all over."

Juno doesn't even have the energy to quip back. "How the hell did I get here, anyways?"

"The stork brought you, it would seem. Left you on our doorstep."

"I don't— what are you  _ talking  _ about?" 

Buddy laughs again. "Ah, it's nice to have someone to talk circles around again. My wife's caught onto my wicked ways, it seems, and the angels are rarely flustered. Anyways, Juno, I mean nothing metaphorically. Someone knocked on our door rather frantically, and when I opened it, you were sprawled on our stoop, making an awful mess of our welcome mat."

"Uh. Sorry," he says. "I gotta say, I have no clue how I actually… how I got here?"

"Well." Buddy crosses her legs, lifts one hand in a questioning gesture. "Why don't you tell me your side of the story, and we can fill in from there. You went to the library, yes?"

"God, don't remind me." Juno's just glad that he hasn't added that librarian to the roster of trauma nightmares yet. Knock on wood. 

"Do you remember leaving on your own? I didn't see a car pulling out of the driveway, or anything of the sort."

"Definitely not." Juno remembers not to say anything of that sort in Hyperion City. "Well, probably not. I just remember…" He shudders.

"No need to relive it, darling. Though Vespa hasn't given me the grisly details, I know as well as any citizen what a librarian attack entails."

"Right. Not fun. And, yeah, well. I remember blacking out… I remember thinking I was a goner for sure. Anyways, after the librarian swapped the places of my small and large intestines and gave me a nice lemon glaze, I don't think I would've been in much of a state to get here myself."

"You were sent to investigate a presence in the library," Buddy speaks up. "Did you notice anyone else there?"

"Oh, right. There was  _ definitely  _ someone else in the library."

"Ah." Her eyebrows rise. "Did you happen to see what they were doing?"

"Messing around in the—"

"Newspaper archive and reference books?"

"—newspapers and nonfiction section. Hey, you're good. You ever wanted to go into community radio, Buddy?"

But she doesn't laugh, or even smile. "Juno. If what you're telling me now is true, which I believe it to be, and if I am right in my assumptions, which might I say I nearly always am— our town is in quite a lot of danger right now."

"Isn't it always?" Listen, sue him, but Juno Steel doesn't feel any particular attachment to Hyperion City. Not like most citizens seem to feel, anyway. It's no oasis of scientific wonder, no beloved hometown, not to him. 

"And," Buddy presses on, "I apologize for dragging you into this mess, but I would appreciate your help in saving— perhaps yourself, perhaps everyone in the town, perhaps the world. I know you're no hero, Juno, no detective, but even if you hate to acknowledge it, you do have a rather remarkable gift."

Juno's ready to get  _ really  _ mad (Buddy knows she's not supposed to bring it up, Buddy knows  _ why  _ Juno hates to acknowledge it, goddamn it)— but Buddy forsees this and cuts him off.

"I speak, of course, of your mind. Though you're relegated to reporting, I've always known you to be admirably quick at figuring out problems and finding a path to right them."

Okay, fine. Not  _ strictly  _ better, but less painful to talk about. Even so… he rolls his eye. "What, okay, so I got gored by a monster, and now I owe you a favor, and… since I'm good at crossword puzzles and point-and-click games, you want me to help you stop the apocalypse?"

"I'm glad we see eye to eye." Buddy grins. "Though I would never hold you to a favor just because my dear Vespa didn't let you die. That's just common decency. I will, however, request similar decent in return on the basis that without your help, I may well be one of the ones in mortal danger."

"Fine," Juno sighs. "Fill me in."

"Have you ever heard of the renowned anthropologist Miasma?" Juno shakes his head. "I wouldn't expect you to. She did her primary work well before your time."

"Plus, I'm more of an American Eagle lady myself."

"Juno, darling, does the Angel Siquliak need to remind you about our rule against unfunny jokes in this household?" He braces himself for a siren, but none plays. Huh. Safe zone, maybe. 

"Sorry. Go on."

"Anyways. Nearly sixty years ago, Miasma— an outsider, but more learned about Hyperion than any other outsider I've ever known— attempted to sap the anomalous energy straight from the heart of Hyperion City. I'll refrain from going into great detail about her attempt, and about our subsequent saving of the town, just because I don't want to overstuff that pretty head of yours."

"Thanks," Juno says dryly.

"However, I have reason to believe that Miasma is once again in pursuit of something in Hyperion City."

"What is it?"

"That's where you come in." Buddy gestures toward him. "Though I and my angelic help try our best to keep an eye on her, to protect our town, I must admit I have no idea precisely what she's after."

"So I'm on the lookout for someone I don't know, who you haven't seen in sixty years, who's trying to do something, but I don't know what that something is. That shouldn't be too hard." 

"There's another layer of complication, unfortunately. Miasma herself is, shall we say, a pariah among the more longstanding members of the Hyperion City community. For her to show her face in our town again would be unfortunate for us, as she's hardly nice to look at, but far more unfortunate for her. If she  _ is  _ planning any measure of sabotage or thievery, you'll need to be alert for anything odd or out of place in the city, not simply for an old anthropologist with homicidal tendencies."

"You really don't like this girl, huh." Juno's head swims with the intake of information. "So I've got to be on the lookout for weird stuff. In Hyperion City."

"Precisely." Unlike Rita, Juno knows that Buddy understands his sarcasm perfectly and is simply choosing to ignore it.

"Oh, wait. Do you think whatever was going on at the library that my Sight couldn't pick up on had to do with her?"

"I think it's more than possible."

"And the rumbling stuff?"

"Likewise. I'm glad to see you're catching on."

Juno doesn't have much to say to that. He's not quite sure where to go from here, except—

Wait. 

That's not entirely true.

"Buddy," he asks in a rush, "has anyone, uh, you know, called to check on me? Other than Rita, I mean? Do you have my phone?"

"Ah, yes." Buddy grins. "If you mean to ask whether a certain tall, dark, and handsome has checked in... " She reaches into her pocket and pulls out his phone, tossing it on the bed. "I'd check your voicemail, if I were you."

"Fuck. Thanks, Buddy. I owe you… a lot of ones, okay? If not for saving me, then at least for letting me stay here and everything."

"And hopefully you'll get a chance to repay them. Now do call your well-wisher back, let him know you're still kicking." She's still standing there by the bed, as though she's expecting him to say something.

Well, he does. "Uh, sorry, Buddy, could you…"

"Yes, Juno? Anything for an old friend."

Juno scowls and blushes, both things he seems to be doing a lot of lately. "You mind giving me a little privacy to call him back?"

"Why, Juno, what on earth could the good scientist have to say that isn't for my ears?"

"Lady's gotta have his secrets." He yawns, goes to stretch then remembers,  _ oh yeah, never mind.  _

"Well, a lady is currently staying in my house, clotting in my guest bed, and wearing my wife's old clothes." She smirks at him. "But I suppose, just for you, I can give you your quiet time."

"Hey!" Juno yells after her as she leaves. "Tell Vespa I said thanks for the clothes, and also I want my coat back, okay?"

There's no reply. 

  
  


_ You have 28 unread messages,  _ says his phone screen.

He sighs and scrolls back. Better to start from the top. 

**3 days ago**

**rex <3: ** are you free to get lunch today dear?   
**rex <3: ** there's a 15 percent off sale at the pinkberry

**rex <3: **nevermind, apologies, juno, but something came up :-( though i'll be free for dinner if you'd like

**rex <3: ** i always forget that you won't reply to these while you're on air! 

**rex <3: ** perhaps i'll tune into the show today, i do love to hear you talk ;-)

**rex <3: ** juno is everything all right?

**rex <3: ** are they hurting you?? please don't risk going to the library that's terribly dangerous

**rex <3: ** juno??

**rex <3: ** please check your messages darling 

**Missed call from: rex <3**

**rex <3: ** juno if you see this please let me know you're all right and don't go to the library

**rex <3: ** i don't know what they've threatened you with but if they're going to fire you i have plenty of money to spare. there's no way what they could do is worse than what's there

**Missed call from: rex <3**

**Missed call from: rex <3**

**2 days ago**

**rex <3: ** juno love please let me know when you wake up

**rex <3: ** i heard on the air that dr. ilkay and ms. aurinko were caring for you. i'm still terribly worried

**rex <3: ** just so you know i'm extremely mad at you

**rex <3: ** i'll most likely find it hard to stay mad at you once i hear your voice again. you're awfully endearing

**rex <3: ** i WILL hear your voice again.

**Missed call from: rex <3**

**rex <3: ** i miss you

**bowling alley drag king:** hey steel did you mean it that i could have your show

**bowling alley drag king:** like if you die on the operating table or something

**bowling alley drag king:** juno i'm really sorry for saying something that cruel. i've been having a hard time lately and have been taking it out on my friends and family. i hope you can forgive me and understand that i really do care about you

**bowling alley drag king:** PSYCHE DUMBASS mah wiiiiife saw me texting you and made me send that. i cant wait to get a cool eye

**Yesterday**

**rex <3: ** i hope you wake up today juno darling. ive been thinking about you a rather distracting amount

**rex <3: ** your secretary has informed me that you're stable. you don't know what a relief that was

**rex <3: ** please call me when you're fully awake

Juno closes his eyes, steels his nerves, and calls Rex Glass.

It's nice to hear his voice again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe this is my favorite chapter in the fic?
> 
> kudos and comment if you're glad to the other half of the aurinko crime family


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is (a) a big one (b) a plot-heavy junologue one (c) a HEAVY one. content warnings for canon-typical child abuse, death, and eye injury.

_ So, like, imagine a dog or something. A really cute dog. Probably a yellow lab or a golden retriever, or maybe a bulldog. Probably bred specifically to act in a commercial.  _

_ Now get this. The dog is in the passenger seat of a Ford, and it's got its head out the window, and its cute little ears are flopping all around. Isn't that just great. Really just the picture of American idyllicism. A dog  _ and  _ a truck. I know, right? _

_ But then, okay, now imagine this. You look in the driver's seat, and you know who's in there? Another dog. Wow. And he's driving the Ford. And this is supposed to be really exciting, because dogs can't usually drive trucks. But this one is such a great truck that this dog can drive it. _

_ And they're driving through, like, a mountain. Wait, no, forget mountain. It's, like, hills instead, with a bunch of trees. Probably in Vermont. Or Washington. And there's this great music playing.  _

_ Ford. We meant this to be an ad for TV, not radio, but it got screwed up somehow. _

_ Listeners, I'm coming to you live from the site of the City Council records office, whose break-in was reported on earlier in the program for those of you who just tuned in. You know, you'd think that a pretty good reporter with some useful powers and stuff could get a couple passes on in-person reporting after having his vital organs rearranged, but I guess that's too much to ask, huh. _

_ Mayor Pereyra has called an emergency press conference. They are standing in front of a decent-sized crowd, examining their fingernails and rolling their eyes in disinterest.  _

_ "Listen, kids," they're saying with a patronizing sneer. "This might seem like a big deal to all of you, if you're not too good at seeing the big picture. But you wanna know something? None of this is even real." _

_ Several reporters are asking for clarification _ —  _ does the mayor mean that the break-in isn't real? City Council itself? The city? What is real, Mayor Pereyra?, everyone is clamoring to know. _

_ "Wow, it's a good thing that you've all got me at the wheel," they're saying. "It's like none of you even know that the doors of the City Council building can't be opened without the blood of an ancient. Listen, Ramses O'Flaherty or whatever face you're using this time, it was a good try at making me look incompetent, except it really wasn't." _

_ The gathered crowd is now pointing out the fact that the doors to the City Council building are pretty clearly open, and that there's police tape around an obviously ransacked section of the records hall. And the mayor is… dismissing the crowd.  _

_ Several of their Secret Police are milling around, clearing things up for reporters by saying things like "you didn't see anything, did you?  _ did  _ you?" and putting their hands threateningly near their guns.  _

_ Well, listeners, I guess you can all draw your own conclusions about what happened today at City Hall. Though I do think… huh. The mayor's right about the blood of an ancient thing, at least.  _

_ Whatever. I don't feel like getting kneecapped for prying.  _

_ In other news, while we're on the whole "ominous and depressing" thing. A whole lotta you guys have written in about the whole rumbling thing. I really don't know what answer you all are looking for. It's still there, okay? It's still there and it's gotten worse. You guys have got to stop being so reliant on me. _

_ God. Sorry, listeners. Not having the best day. You know, uh, recovering still and everything. _

  
  


When the show ends, he trudges out to his car. What he doesn't expect to see is, of course, one Rex Glass, sitting on the hood of the car, holding a cup of coffee and a paper bag from the falafel place.

"Hello, Juno," he says, setting down the food and coming up to caress his cheek with one palm. "Rough day?"

"You can say that again," Juno sighs.

"Rough day?" He grins. Normally Juno would justify it with a little laugh, or at least an eye-roll, but today…

"Save it, Glass. Not in the mood." He instantly feels bad. "I mean. God, sorry. I'm an asshole, huh. Thanks for stopping by to see me."

If Rex's mad, he does a great job not showing it. "My poor hard-working reporter," he sighs instead, pressing a kiss to Juno's forehead. And, okay. It helps a little.

"I brought you lunch," Rex says, pressing the bag and the coffee into his hands. "I remembered you liked falafel."

"Did you know," Juno says, "that you're literally the best person in the whole world?" He leans in for a real kiss. Glass obliges happily.

"I try my best, love," he says. It's been a few months, but Juno's heart still bursts with the pet name every time. 

"Oh, hey. I know we had a date tonight, and I'm not gonna bail or anything, but. I don't want to talk about it now, but, uh, fair warning, I'm gonna be… a mess. Not a good day. So, um, if you still want to come over...," he says, more honesty than he's given anyone since. Well. For a while.

"Juno, darling," says Glass, running his thumb along Juno's cheekbone. "Of course I do. If you'll have me."

"Yeah," Juno nods. Ordinarily he wouldn't want to be with anyone in this state, but with Glass… with Glass, it's different. "Okay. Thank you."

"I have to get back to work now," Glass sighs. "Science doesn't take even a moment off, I'm afraid. But I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Can't wait," Juno tells him. Honestly, again. Fuck. He's got it bad. 

"Oh! And I almost forgot!" 

Glass reaches into his briefcase, rummages through papers for a second before pulling out… Juno's old overcoat? It takes him a second to recognize it, because it's folded and so much cleaner than he's used to, but once he places it, he gives a stupid little gasp. He'd thought it had been lost post-librarian attack, and honestly, had been missing it quite a bit.

"Holy hell, Glass, thanks! Where'd you find this?"

Glass takes just the slightest pause before answering. It wouldn't surprise Juno, except that he's  _ never _ speechless, always has exactly the thing to say. But oh well. He's not gonna look a gift coat in the mouth, even if Glass did have to go on the black market to get it back. 

"Old Woman Buddy gave it to me to give to you," he says. "I had it dry-cleaned, and sewed up the tears in it myself. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Rex, I, uh. Thanks. Really."  _ Shouldn't be getting so emotional over a beat-up old coat. Stupid.  _

"Of course," he says, grinning with those fox's teeth, before he puts on his motorcycle helmet. "Goodbye, Juno. I hope the rest of your day treats you better."

* * *

The rest of the day, it turns out, doesn't treat Juno significantly better. In the end, he asks Glass whether they could just get take-out at his house. He doesn't know whether he's up to being a person.

It's a testament to what a guy Glass is that he doesn't seem to mind at all, or even pry into why. So Juno makes an effort to put on a little eyeliner, change out of his work clothes and into something a little more dateable.

Glass rings the doorbell at 8 on the dot with a bouquet of roses. Juno  _ definitely  _ doesn't tear up a little, and if Glass  _ definitely  _ doesn't notice, he doesn't say anything. 

"Hey," he greets him. "Dinner's on the way. I hope you don't mind Thai? I had my pizza of the week already the day I got released from Aurinko Unofficial Hospital." There, he can do this. The steady back-and-forth quipping, the little touches and kisses and smiles and winks. The last on Glass's end only, duh.

Still, he's quieter than usual during dinner, only picks at his food. Glass must notice, because he sets down his fork and knife before they're half done with the cassowary pad see ew. 

"Juno, love," he says, voice quieter, less flirty than usual. "I'd never pry, of course. And feel free to tell me to back off. But I just want you to know— if something's wrong, if it's more than just a bad day at work, you can talk to me. If it would help."

"It's nothing," Juno mutters, then immediately contradicts himself. "It's just my half birthday."

Glass gives him a little smile. "Darling, if you're worried about getting older, let me just say that from where I'm sitting—"

"Not that." Juno can't look at him, can't meet those dark eyes. 

"Oh? Did nobody remember, then? Because I—"

"Shut up, Glass," he says, pressing two fingers between his eye and the scarred mass of tissue below the Hyperion City Radio Station-branded eyepatch he wears. "Stop guessing."

"Of course."

He doesn't even mean to say it. It just comes out. "This was when we celebrated Benten's birthday. Because I got jealous that ours were always on the same day. So we staggered them by half a year so that we each had a day to get attention."

Glass looks at him, half-expectantly, half-sadly. Like he's putting together where the story must lead, but doesn't want to jump to it himself.

Juno curls his knees close to his chest, as though shielding himself from something. "He was my twin," he whispers. "He was my twin. And we— he was— goddamnit, he was the nicest guy you'd ever meet. We were just— we were everything to each other. Helped each other get through life in this  _ fucking  _ town. And then— one day— god." He clears his throat, wipes at his eyes. 

"Been twenty years now and it still hurts," he finishes. 

"Juno," Glass says softly. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how much that must hurt. May I—" he holds his arms open, and Juno sighs and leans into his embrace.

"If you don't want to talk about it any more," Glass whispers against the top of his head, pressing a gentle kiss there, "we don't have to. I can leave, if you'd like. Or we could put on a movie." 

And Juno could just leave it at that. Could just shut up, like he told Glass to do, and everything would be fine.

But something about having someone actually listening. Something about twenty years of holding this godawful secret in his heart. Something about the way Glass looks at him, like he hung the moon.

He wants to show him that he's wrong. He wants someone, finally, to feel the same way about him that he does about himself. And even more, he wants the possibility that Glass might not feel that way. 

"D'you wanna know how I wound up with one super-eye instead of two normal ones?" he says after a few choked false starts.

"Only if it won't hurt you." 

"It will hurt," Juno admits. "It'll hurt. But I think I need it."

"Then by all means, go ahead."

Juno lets out a long breath. "My mom wasn't from here. Ben and I were born here— his name was Benzaiten. His name was Benzaiten, and I called him Ben or Benten, okay, and we were born here, and Ma didn't know how— she didn't  _ know.  _ How dangerous this place could be. How you can't just raise two kids here and expect all three of you to come out unscathed.

"Well, Ma was the first one to… to get real fucked up, I guess. But not in the way you'd expect. Not by a librarian or anything. She, um—" Juno sighs.

"Take your time." Glass squeezes his hand. 

"We were bad kids, I guess. We fought sometimes, stuff like that. And Ma… she drank a lot, she made bad choices, and we were always getting hurt. Sometimes by her, sometimes by the town. And then one day… she saw the, the  _ power _ that our last radio host had. Andromeda, her name was. And she wanted that, you know? Who wouldn't want to be able to see it all. Andromeda could see the future, too, and the past. And Ma wanted that for herself. Just so—" he chokes back a sob. 

"So she could keep us safe," he continues. "And she, she prayed, and she talked with City Council, and Station Management, and even higher than that. Deer-headed goddesses and distant Glasss and emissaries. But she couldn't— she was an outsider. She could never take the place of Andromeda. So you know what she did?" There's rage in his voice now, that ever-present bubbling rage that comes up whenever he thinks about Sarah Steel. 

Glass makes a soft questioning noise.

"She decided that one of us should be the next radio host. And of course it had to be Benzaiten. It always had to be Benzaiten. He was the  _ better  _ one, he was, smarter and kinder and less— less like Ma. So she prayed some more, and— and they asked for a sacrifice. The life of one of the kids, in exchange for the Sight given to the other. You know which one she chose."

He pauses, less for dramatic effect and more to stop himself from throwing up all over the couch. It's draining talking about something like this, and even more so to someone he cares so much about. 

"Ben. Duh. S'what I would've done, too. And the whole time, I was oblivious, you know? I didn't care about Ma. I wanted to get out of here, away from her. Ben was better. He always cared  _ so much  _ about her, even when she hurt us. But then—" he's crying now, hot tears welling up in his eye, and he can't bother to stop them. 

"He found out. About the ritual. The sacrifice. While she was doing it. It was a rite, you know, she didn't tie me to a— a— an altar or, or, or anything. And he— he interrupted it— but it was too late, too late, all he did was— mess it up— and he— and I—"

He buries his face in Glass's shoulder. It's solid, warm, smells like that cologne he always wears. 

Glass holds him while he sobs, running a hand up and down his back slowly. Embarrassing, really, and this can't be how Glass wanted to spend their night in. But god, some fucked-up place deep down, it feels good for Juno to be able to let it all out like this.

Presently he pulls himself back together. 

"So I got this great eye," he says, a little deadpan, a little tear-choked. "Two, actually. I could see the present with the one I've still got, past and future with the other. But I didn't. Refused to look at anything, refused to report. Hyperion can't run without a Voice, though. Fun fact. And so, uh. Station Management— punished me."

"By taking the other eye," Glass whispers, and then claps his hand over his mouth. "Juno, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he sighs. "You're right. You solved my eye puzzle."

"Oh, Juno," Glass says quietly. What else is there to say?

"I don't want you to pity me," he says. Ironically, it comes out pretty pitifully. "I just wanted to tell someone, okay? And now that you know all the shit I did to become Host, you can go."

"Juno!" Glass's face is a mask of shock. "I would never— Juno, you have to believe me, this isn't your  _ fault,  _ I could never hold it against you!"

The pad see ew is getting cold on the table. Juno frowns. "Logically I know that. But I've just been… I've been manipulated so much, pushed around and used and puppetted, and it's just. Hard to think that I'm much more than Station Management's little toy. Or Sarah Steel's mistake."

"Juno, you're so much more than that." Glass cradles Juno's head so gently in his hands that Juno almost wants to believe him. "Think about what you are to me. To Rita. To Mick, and Vicky, and all of your friends around town." 

The words… help. Just a little. It helps to hear them from someone he knows cares about him beyond a voice on the radio.

Glass continues. "And I know it might seem hard sometimes, to understand that you're more than a sum of the people who have hurt you. But trust me. I know better than anyone that past performance is not a predictor of future results." 

"Okay," Juno says. He feels oddly empty, light. Having someone there, someone to listen, has helped more than he could imagine.

"Maybe I'll get therapy," he says after a few seconds of nothing. He doesn't know whether he means it as a joke or not.

"Maybe that's the right idea," Glass replies. 

They go back to eating, not talking. There's an air over the two of them, and it isn't the sentient patch of haze. Juno figures that it's what tends to happen when you confess all your childhood trauma to someone over takeout. He's never tried it before.

Glass is the first to break the silence. "So— Juno, you don't have to answer this. But you said your mother wasn't from here?"

Questions about Sarah hurt, usually, like claws in his chest. Well, not literally, he knows now. But still pretty bad.

This one doesn't. Maybe he's just had enough negative emotions for the night, but it's just a question for once.

"Nah," he says, gesturing with his fork. "An outsider, just like— uh."

"Just like me?" he offers.

"Nothing like you." 

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. But then, my question is— you're not an Ancient?"

"No?" Where was this coming from? An Ancient, an Ancient— "Hey, whoa, wait a second, you don't think I'm the one who broke into City Hall? That's ridiculous, I mean— I was literally reporting when it happened!"

"Not at all," Glass says smoothly. "I was just wondering about… something."

And then his eyes flick to Juno's coat. 

Just for a split second.

But, well. Old Woman Buddy might not have been wrong when she lauded Juno's ability to put the pieces together.

Because that's the last piece he needs to put it all together. Everything that's been bugging him for the past two months. The Alley. Vicky's stolen key. Miasma. The librarian. That thing Mick had told him. City Council. His  _ coat. _

Though, in retrospect,  _ put it all together _ doesn't quite seem accurate. Because it's more like everything comes crashing down when he figures it out. Like he's lived comfortably in a house built of toothpicks and lies, and someone's just displaced one of the toothpicks. 

"Hey, Glass," he says casually, trying not to stiffen. "You said you dry-cleaned my coat, right?"

He startles, looking guilty before covering it up. There. That had been exactly the response Juno had been expecting, dreading. "Of course, dear. It was absolutely  _ filthy _ —"

"You take it anywhere before dry-cleaning it?" He sits up straight, out of Glass's embrace. "The City Council Hall of Records, maybe? To try and use it to open the vault doors?"

"Juno, I haven't the faintest clue what you're—"

"Uh-huh. Well, let me hit you with another question, then." He flings his fork and knife aside. "Did I tell you that me, Vicky, and her wife go out for drinks every other Tuesday?"

Oh, he's got him scared now. Glass has clearly figured out where Juno's going with this, and his expression is just as much of an indication as the clues Juno's pieced together. "I— seem to remember you mentioning that, yes—"

"Funny, 'cuz that's  _ exactly  _ when her house got broken into. And anyone could've known that, right." He gestures furiously with his hands, simultaneously working through it all himself and putting Glass on trial. "But nobody would've wanted to break into her house and only take the key to the Alley, not without knowing about the underground city. And who knew about the underground city when she was robbed? Only me, her, Julian DiMaggio, and the Aurinkos. And, oh, right, and some  _ interloper  _ who I told about it for no. Good. Reason." 

He's furious at himself, but more so at Glass, who withers under his gaze. He opens his mouth to talk, but Juno cuts him off. 

"And it's awfully  _ convenient, _ isn't it, that someone would be at the library to save me when I got mauled. So  _ thanks  _ for that, Glass." Anger is comfortable, recognizable, an old friend. It keeps the cold understanding and flooding grief at bay. So he leans into it. 

"But I can't find it in my heart to be too grateful, because you  _ lured _ me there, didn't you! I knew I recognized the handwriting on that note. I knew I did. You lured me there as your  _ goddamn  _ bait so that I’d distract the librarians and you could swoop in and find all the papers on that fucking Egg that you're trying to steal, huh."

"Juno, I would never—"

"Oh, shut up. Just shut up.” He digs his fingers into the meat of the couch. “The blood had me going for a while, I'll admit. Bet you thought that you’d really killed two birds with one stone there, finding me all bloody at the library, thought you’d use the Ancient blood of community radio host and local  _ idiot  _ Juno Steel.” 

Glass just blinks at him, wide-eyed. Juno feels disgusted, like insects are writhing under his skin. 

“Woulda been too bad for you, ‘cuz I’ve only been around a miserable forty years. But you know what Station Management did the day that  _ you  _ came into town? They got mad at me for  _ talking sappy  _ about some  _ goddamn pretty faced-interloper.  _ So they  _ bled _ on me. And I hadn't washed the coat since. There’s your blood of an ancient.”

Speaking of blood, it all seems to have left Glass's face by this point. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were a scientist. Knew I shoulda been suspicious of you the first time we ever talked. Riding into town on that motorbike, knowing so much about Hyperion already, asking me all the right questions to get me talking and talking and telling you exactly what  _ Miasma  _ wanted to hear.”

Glass flinches as though he's been punched, and Juno stands up, starts pacing back and forth across his living room. An unfortunate pillow lies on the floor in his way, and he kicks it hard. He knows he gets too inside his head sometimes, but the way Glass isn’t denying it, is just sitting there shell-shocked…

“Tell me I’m wrong, Rex. Please, god, tell me I’m wrong.”

“Juno, I—” He’s gripping his fork tight, sitting straight up on the couch, eyes wide, staring up at Juno with— what? Nerves? Anger? Calculation?

“You know what? I  _ was _ wrong,” he spits, “I was wrong when I said you were nothing like  _ her.  _ You’re  _ just _ like her. You’re just like her, and like Station Management, and like the whole of this  _ fucking  _ town. You lied to me. You  _ used me.  _ Just like everyone else who I’ve ever really  _ loved  _ has.” 

“Juno, don’t— please, I never— I didn’t mean—”

Juno draws himself up to his full height, pulls his shoulders back and puts on his best Radio Voice. "So. Rex Glass. Regulus Mica. Whoever the  _ hell  _ you are. What are you after in this town?”

“The Egg of Purus,” he whispers. “A doomsday device. A primed bomb. What lies under Lane 5, what’s causing the rumblings. But Juno, you have to believe me—”

“I don’t have to do anything, _ interloper. _ What  _ you _ have to do is just. Stop. Talking.” He squeezes his eye shut, looms over the outsider. 

The thing is, he knows how this has to go. The interloper’s taller, younger, no doubt a better fighter than he is, especially injured. Miasma’s no doubt planning on paying him off, or threatening somehow. He's desperate for the Egg, desperate enough to pretend to  _ love  _ someone for two months, probably desperate enough to kill that same someone.

He’s just so tired. 

He’s just. So tired. 

“Just go,” he mutters. 

“I— I’m sorry?”

“Just. Go.” 

“Juno.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. Glass. Get  _ out. _ ” He strides over to the coat rack, pulls Glass’s patent leather jacket from it and tosses it at him.

And just like he’s invoked some spell, Glass stands up and walks towards the door. Not a sliver of his usual bravado and spirit remains. He looks down at the floor, not meeting Juno’s eyes, the front door opening and then shutting behind him. 

The lack of spectacle puts a sick feeling of finality in Juno’s chest. Stress and anger have caused him to lose feeling in his feet, and his empty eye socket throbs with phantom pain worse than he can remember in a while. His chest hurts. Everything in the universe feels like it’s tugging at him, underground cities and doomsday devices and brothers and lovers and all of it threatens to pull him under, like it did twenty years ago, a dark chasm opening under his feet. 

He’ll call Old Woman Buddy tomorrow, he decides. Tell her everything, tell her that Miasma and the interloper are gonna blow up the town or whatever. The Alley’s closed now, and if Glass— if the interloper— is stupid enough to break in, well, maybe the underground city’ll get to him. 

What now? For now, he sinks to his knees, too exhausted to stand. Half of him wants to grab the whiskey from the top shelf, partake in his yearly tradition for this godawful day, but most of him is just. Tired. Tired and empty. 

He lies down on his back, staring at the ceiling. Of course he doesn’t  _ mean _ to silently cry himself to sleep, lying on the dirty floor of his apartment, thinking about Ben’s smile and Glass’s smile. He’s a grown lady, for fuck’s sake, and he always tries not to act as pathetic as he feels.

But with all the ways his life, his will, are not his own, all playing on a loop in his mind, he can’t think of much else to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters left to go, everyone. how do you think this'll turn


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno's powers have unexpected applications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here it is!! just this one and the epilogue left to go!! holy shit, this fic is actually almost done, huh?
> 
> content warnings for blood and serious injury, mentions of death, and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to drug addiction

The sun has just started its crawl up the sky when Juno wakes up. His cheek is sore from being pressed against the floor. His hair is a mess. There’s a letter on the floor a few feet between him and the space under his door. It smells like Rex’s cologne. 

The memories of last night come rushing back, and he has a moment of fantasizing about tearing it up into pieces and leaving it for the Faceless Old Woman to make a wasp nest out of.

He doesn’t. He opens the letter and reads. 

  
  


_Dear Juno,_

_Let me start by saying I do not wish for you to accept my apology. I have hurt you in ways I never wished, in ways I should have foreseen, and in ways I can never make up for. I write this letter not to beg for you to reinvite me into your home or your heart, but rather only to clear up several things I cannot bear to have plaguing me the rest of my life._

_I signed on to work for Miasma to repay a debt which I have borne for several years now. The full story excuses nothing, though I hope you understand that when I agreed to work for her, I did not know the scope of the evil she had within her, targeted at your town (yes, Juno,_ your _town, much as you may hate the idea)._

_You were… unexpected, Juno Steel. I have made it twenty-five years, since a horrible mistake in my childhood, without getting attached to anyone or any place. When I embarked for Hyperion City, sights aimed at the Egg of Purus beneath your town, I could never have expected your wit, your charm. The way I fell for you. My love was never a part of the plan, nor was it something I meant to weaponize against you. And yet after all that, I have failed you in so many ways._

_The Egg of Purus is a doomsday device, of sorts, but its true horrors extend past that. It is an off switch, shall we say, for the anomalous nature of your lovely town, I knew when I signed onto Miasma’s contract. What I did not know was how you all depended on the curiosity of Hyperion City._

_What I did not know, when I came within city limits, is that the detonation of the Egg spells an end to everyone and everything living in this oasis of pushed limits and bent time, this town bridging the gap between the real and the unreal. And when I found this out, I knew I could not let it come to pass._

_My job, as Miasma told it, was easy. I simply had to break into the Alley, take the Egg, and meet her just by the Sand Wastes, just outside town. Harder, though, was going behind the back of a hardened and dangerous fanatic, pretending to maintain my allegiance towards her while in fact working against everything she planned. The burden was lifted somewhat by the fact that she could not enter the city, but it caused me a decent amount of stress. (I say this not so you’ll pity me, not to win you over, but only so you understand the weight behind the decisions I was making.)_

_Harder still was figuring out how to defuse the Egg. Records in Hyperion, it turns out, are not terribly easily available. But the library had enough information to start me off, and City Council’s records filled in the rest._

_The library. Juno, I am so sorry. Nothing can make up for how I’ve hurt you, not your remarkable body nor your admirable heart. But I never meant for you to be forced to the library. I sent the letter to the station only in hopes that the Secret Police would come see what the disturbance was, and clear me a path in their distraction. I shudder to think of what might have happened to you had I not been listening to the radio upon leaving with the necessary information, but I do not wish for you to spend your life thinking that you owe me for saving you in any way._

_I hurt you, Juno, and I can never apologize for it. I was going to tell you my plan, perhaps not last night, but in due time. I would have enlisted your help to defuse the bomb, were it not for one thing. I did not wish to cause you any more danger, any more pain, than you had already been through. I thought I could protect you by keeping you in the dark. And I see now that that secrecy has been my downfall._

_Today, I will retrieve and defuse the Egg of Purus from under the Alley, and remove it from your town for good. I shall leave Hyperion City— I cannot, in good conscience, remain. Do not feel as though I have saved your town, do not let them remember me as a hero. I am a thief, one who lies and runs and makes mistakes. It is the least I can do to help repair one of my own creation._

_Though believe me, the time I spent with you has been the happiest months I can remember; I nonetheless hope for your sake only that I never see you again. I cannot make up for the pain I have caused, but I hope this letter affords you some sense of closure._

_On that note, I feel it is only fair to tell you that my name, much as you speculated that first day on the radio, is not Rex Glass nor Regulus Mica. I am a rather cowardly man, Juno, living under alibis and lives that are not my own. I will doubtless have to continue on that path, rather than incur Miasma’s rage. Still, you deserve to know the name of the man who loved and failed you._

_With love, and regret, and my sincerest apologies,_

_Peter Nureyev_

  
  


He reaches the end, and sets the paper down on the ground beside him. It’s a lot to take in.

With the reddish sunlight filtering through his blinds, with the morning air coming in through a cracked window and a good night’s sleep, he wonders whether he should have allowed Glass— no, Nureyev— to explain himself last night. 

He’s still _mad,_ he knows that much. No question about it. But at least…

Knowing that Nureyev hadn’t intended to hurt him. That… well, the bar is low, but it means a lot. And it’s nice to know that he hadn’t willingly pulled him along using Station Management, that library day, either.

He shuts his eye. He could call him, right now, ask him to talk. It’s a good idea. It’s what he should do.

Just as he reaches for his phone, though, it rings. 

Rex’s number. No— Nureyev’s number (he’s got to change that in his phone). Good. He’s beat him to the punch.

He accepts the call, holds the phone up to his ear.

“Hey. Peter.” _Keep your voice neutral. Don’t let him know you were crying over him._

None of that’s a worry, though, because the voice that comes out of the other end isn’t Nureyev’s at all. 

“Steel, holy hell.” It’s Vicky. She sounds shaken, more than Juno’s ever heard. “You gotta get over here quick. Your boyfriend’s— I don’t know what to do. He’s hurt, he’s hurt real bad, but he won’t let go of— he went into the lane— just get down here.”

Juno’s heart is immediately clawing its way up his esophagus and out his throat. “Right,” he croaks out. “Is he still—”

“Can’t get close enough to tell. Fuck, Steel, just get over here, I dunno— I’ve called Old Woman Buddy but she’s still asleep I think— holy shit.”

“Right,” he says again. “I’m on my way.”

He’s speeding down the city streets, twenty over the speed limit, when he remembers a promise he’s made. He tries not to call and drive, but now…

“Rita,” he says as soon as she picks up. “I need you at the bowling alley. Stat.”

“But booosssss, it’s six in the morning!” she protests. “I need my beauty sleep if wanna stay the prettier friend!”

Juno doesn’t have _time_ for this. “I told you I’d call you next time I was in mortal danger. Well, it’s now. So get on over here or don’t, but let Station Management know I might not be in today.”

He hangs up. A dick move, maybe. But, god, he’s so nervous he can barely keep his eyes on the road. 

The Alley’s still dark when he pulls into the parking lot, the main window smashed. The letters have all fallen off the sign on the door, and for a reason he can’t explain Juno gives a little hysterical laugh at this. 

He considers climbing in through the broken window, but tries the front door instead. It’s open, and he starts walking quickly over to the lanes. When he smells blood, he starts to run. 

The dim lights of the Alley require him to take a second before fully understanding the scene, but when he does, he almost falls over. Vicky’s kneeling on the ground next to the sprawled-out figure he recognizes all too well as Peter Nureyev. Who’s marked all over with miniature gashes and bullet holes. Whose face is covered in a thick coat of his own blood. Who’s clutching something so tightly to his chest, even unconsciously (unconsciously, that’s all it is, he can’t be dead, he can’t be—). 

Who is so, so still. Terrifyingly motionless. 

For all the months Juno’s known him, Rex Glass and Regulus Mica and Peter Nureyev have never been still. Has always been tapping his fingers, or raising his eyebrows to make some witty comment, or striding around town purposefully.

It doesn’t suit him, and it steals all the warmth right out of the desert July morning. And all the air out of Juno’s lungs. 

He runs over, kneels down by his side as well. Vicky’s got what looks like a ripped towel tied around his head tightly, and is putting pressure on a deep gash in his leg with both hands.

“Came in here this morning and he was like this,” she huffs out. She’s not squeamish around blood like Juno, has no reason to care so much about Nureyev, either, but she looks deeply disturbed. “Lost a lotta blood, by the looks of it. Got ‘im in the head and the leg, that’s the two worst spots.” 

“Is he breathing.” It’s not a question, mostly because Juno knows there can only be one answer. Knows that Peter Nureyev can’t have given his life for the town. He can’t have. 

Vicky looks from side to side, then down at the ground. “Not much,” she says, quietly. Vicky doesn’t _do_ quietly. Fuck. “And his heart’s— I’m no doctor, Steel, but it ain’t good. I’d have taken him to Hyperion General, but I didn’t want… shit, Juno. I felt like if I looked away from him for even a second, he’d die.”

And Juno realizes what he has to do.

What he was too late to do for his brother, what he didn’t know he was capable of yet. What he’s refused to do for the twenty years since, beyond what Station Management commanded of him.

He places his hands on Nureyev’s shoulders. Vicky looks at him questioningly, but he shakes his head. 

Then, with resolve and purpose and his own free will, for once, he opens his Eye. Lets the Sight flow out of him and into Nureyev.

It’s a jumbled mass of semiconsciousness, at first, pulling him out of the Alley and into the pain Nureyev’s feeling, the guilt, the determination. Then, things start to clear.

A young boy, living on the streets of a city so different from Hyperion and yet, deep down, just the same. Stealing food and clothes, drifting from place to place. 

Then, an older boy, same face, same teeth. Hair grown out, and a man standing behind him, shadowy, one hand on his shoulder. Nureyev remembers— Juno remembers— they remember comfort, for the first time, and safety, and above all else, a prophecy. Him— them— at the center.

Then, a young man. Looking about the same age as Juno was, when... everything went down. Blood on his hands, fear in his eyes. And for the second time in two days, Juno understands he’s been— Nureyev’s been— they’ve been living a lie for so long. 

Twenty years of subterfuge and thievery and escapes blur together. Juno feels Nureyev’s consciousness slipping, and he pulls at it, wills him to stay together, for just a little longer, _just a little longer, come on, Nureyev, stay with me._

And then— Hyperion City. The most interesting place in the world, except to the people who live there, Juno’s always thought. 

But he sees it afresh through Nureyev’s eyes, and he sees just a glimmer of what everyone else might, too. 

And then he sees _himself_ the way Nureyev sees him. A lens he'd never stopped to consider. Raw emotion and respect and friendship and _love,_ all-consuming. It's enough to almost make him forget the task at hand, until their link begins to fray again, threads stretched taut about to snap. 

"No," he whispers, frantically, and then again, a little more sure of himself. "No."

The sound of his own voice, almost unbidden, pulls him back to the present, and he leans closer to Nureyev, close enough that he can hear his heartbeat (so slow) and his breathing (so shallow), still half in his mind.

"By the power of my blood," he starts. He doesn't know where the words are coming from, only feels their weight. Like when he finds himself in the middle of the road, halfway to work, without remembering having even left the house.

"By the power of my blood, and the power of my Sight." He takes a deep breath.

"By the notion of the stars, and the lights beyond the stars." Faintly, in the edge of his awareness, Valles Vicky, owner of the Hyperion City Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, stares at him, feeling the full power of a ritual she understands none of.

"By the time gone by, and the years to come." Twenty-one years and one day ago had been the last time he'd spent a day with his brother. He sees it clearly for a second, and then the memory fades as his empty eye socket twinges. Twenty-one years and one day from now is hazy. Hundreds of thousands of paths branch out as the spot half an inch from his one good eye erupts in pain. 

"By all that I know, and all that I will never know, and all that I have to learn." On the other side of town, Old Woman Buddy wakes up in her wife's arms and their resident Angel starts on making breakfast. At Mick Mercury's Pizzeria, the earliest customers are just now coming in for a slice before work. Station Management has received Rita's request for more time off for Juno, and they aren't happy about it but they'll let it slide. 

All across Hyperion City, people live their lives. "By the energy of Hyperion City, let it be known that—"

And then, the feeling like he's missed a step on a flight of stairs, or like he's delivering a speech naked with no prompts or script. Because after all that? He doesn't know what to say.

So Juno Steel, Hyperion City Radio Host, does what he does best. He improvises.

"Let it be known that Peter Nureyev _isn't_ going to die here. Not now. Not after everything," he finishes. Prays to every god he can think of, Smiling and otherwise, that it's the right thing to say.

His hands burn where they're still on Nureyev, but it's a comforting warmth, replacing the chill that's taken him since he saw Nureyev crumpled on the floor. He looks down, and sees— sees the gaping wounds all over his body slow their bleeding and clot in rapid stop-motion, sees the rise and fall of his chest return, sees a little color come back to his face.

"Fuck," he breathes, carefully removing one hand from Nureyev and pressing it against his eyepatch. 

"Holy shit," Vicky agrees. "Steel…"

"I know."

"He was _dead,_ Steel, what the—"

"I don't know any better than you do, okay?" He can't find the usual bite to throw behind the words. He's almost delirious with relief, with understanding, with… well, with deliriousness, too. Unsurprisingly, channeling all the energy of this city through himself has left him drained, bone-tired, unable to do much except stare at the man who betrayed him to save him. 

Then there's the unmistakable sound of breaking glass, and the unmistakable sound of someone running towards them. He tenses, prepared for the worst, but—

"Mistah STEEEEEEEEEEEL!" Rita comes barreling towards him, arms outstretched. 

"Rita, Rita, no, hey, wait—" But _wait_ is not a word in Rita's vocabulary. She crashes into him, knocking him to the ground in a hug. 

"Oof." He pokes Rita's shoulder. "Hey, kid, I'm okay. Get offa me, all right? I'm okay." It's…. the truth, he thinks.

"I'm older than you!" she protests, but sits up. Juno can pinpoint the exact moment she becomes aware of Nureyev, splayed out on the ground, clutching an oversized egg to his chest, just because the noise she makes is one of the funnier things he's ever heard. 

"Mistah Steel, oh my gosh, what happened to Mistah Rex? Is he okay, I mean, wow that's a lot of blood isn't it, and he sure don't look like he's feeling too good and what's that he's holding and _oh_ my _stars_ Mistah Steel I'm real glad you're okay!"

Vicky makes a noise of confusion. "Who the hell is this, Steel?"

"Oh. Rita, this is Vicky, she owns the Alley. Vicky, this is Intern Rita, you've heard about her on air."

Rita looks away from Juno and makes a quiet squeaking sound.

"Sure, sure," says Vicky, looking from Juno to Nureyev to Rita and back again, "and why the hell'd she break through the _other_ window?"

"Weeeeeell," Rita starts, a giggle clearly trying to break through her words, "I saw that one was broken, so I figured the door must not be open!"

"Don't even start," Juno mouths to Vicky.

Vicky shakes her head. "I'll, uh, go call Buddy again, I guess. Looks like the interloper could use a checkup, at least. Steel, you keep an eye on her, make sure she don't bust through our last good window." 

"She's preeeetty," Rita whispers as Vicky walks out of earshot.

"Rita," says Juno, "read the room."

He slowly, carefully, moves his hand down from Nureyev's shoulder, down his arm, to take his hand. It's warm. 

* * *

"So," Juno asks, his mouth inches from Nureyev's heavily-bandaged forehead. "Where do we go from here?"

He'd woken up a few hours ago, disoriented and distraught but wonderfully _alive._ They're lying next to each other in Old Woman Buddy's guest bed, a situation which invokes no small bit of _deja vu_ (as Buddy herself was the first to point out, with a pointed "my, Juno, it's so nice to see you so much lately!"). 

The reconciliation had been the easiest part of it all. Juno still hurt, they'd established, but wanted to see where they could go from here. Nureyev still felt inexpressibly guilty, they'd established, but wanted to try and make it up to Juno if he'd let him. (He would, first and foremost with no small amount of kissing). 

It had been harder to explain to Nureyev what had happened between the Alley and here. Rituals, all-seeingness, mind-reading… well, Juno had expected it to be a lot for Nureyev to take in, and it was. They'd tabled a lot of the stuff for future discussion (and the idea that he got to have this, that there'd be a future to discuss it in, made Juno stupidly happy). 

Now they lay here, trading kisses occasionally, Juno helping Nureyev sit up to drink water and brush his still blood-matted hair from his face. 

He's still a little blurry from pain meds ("hey, _doctor,_ how come he gets the the good stuff and I didn't?" "yeah, Steel, let's have this conversation in front of your secretary and friend and _boyfriend,_ that's a great idea—" "shut up and let me complain!"), but he looks up at Juno when he asks.

"I think," Nureyev answers softly, "that we get to decide that ourselves. Though a logical first order of business would be to deactivate that pesky Egg."

"Huh?" Juno's confused. "But it's not humming or anything anymore. Like, it's… what's the word? Dormant? I thought you'd already deactivated it?"

Nureyev shakes his head, eyes wide. "No, that… that can't be, I remember what it said would deactivate it, but it was so cryptic I thought I'd have to take it to City Council or something."

"What was it?"

"'The heart of the city'," Nureyev says, clearly quoting from somewhere. "I didn't know, I wondered whether it was metaphorical or literal, whether perhaps there was some place in town, or some entity who's described in lore as—"

Juno cuts him off by laughing. "Hey, Nureyev." He kisses his cheekbone. "About that. I don't think we gotta worry about that Egg anymore."

"Oh?" He sounds pleasantly surprised. 

"Lemme tell you more about this cool ritual I found out I can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so who foresaw it would turn out like this? LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTSSSS!!!


	9. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

"Juno, love," says Nureyev, leaning over to brush his lips over Juno's forehead. "You'll be late to work."

"Hmrgh." He sits up slowly, not wanting to break the contact between the two of them. "Just wanna stay here with you for a little longer."

"And the town wants its Voice, darling." It's a gentle argument that they've had every morning since they've moved into the condo together, since Nureyev decided to stay. 

"Jus' five more minutes," he sighs.

"Five more minutes," Nureyev kisses just under Juno's glass eye, a translucent purple, "but no more. I've a job to get to, as well."

He's settled into the town's way of life, more or less. Taken up a position as a researcher at Hyperion City University. It lets him travel, to desert otherworlds and nearby cities that take five days and ten tries to reach, and one memorable occasion even a vacation to the lovely European village of Svitz (with Juno by his side, naturally). 

Nureyev can't stay in Hyperion City, in mortal peril and constant befuddlement, all the time. Juno knows this. He understands. Juno can't leave Hyperion City, leave his home and his job and his friends, not for too long. Nureyev understands, too. 

He comes home to Juno, he's home more often than he's not, and that's enough. It's perfect. There's always more to learn about each other, more stories and bad jokes and cheesy lines and more to see in each other's mismatched eyes. 

"Five minutes, dear, time to get up. We've got dinner tonight with the Aurinkos, remember," Nureyev says, extracting himself from Juno and pulling the covers off him. Juno doesn't even fight back. 

They're meeting Buddy and Vespa and the Big Guy at Hyperion City's hottest new gourmet restaurant, run by Cecil Kanagawa. It's got a gimmick, like any good restaurant, this one's being that one in every four customers is secretly commiting theophagy when eating their dinner and won't find out until the bill comes. 

League Night is back on, Lane 5 now quiet and all cleaned and patched up. Nureyev doesn't bowl, says he doesn't "have the figure for it", whatever the hell that means, but sometimes he comes and watches Juno play. He and Vicky have become odd friends, at each others' throats far less than Juno would expect. 

They go to Mick's Pizzeria more than once a week. Him and Nureyev, or him and Rita, or the three of them. Mick's always so glad to see them, to tell them the latest tall tale he's cooked up or his latest get-rich-quick scheme. It's nice. 

See, here's the thing. Some people say Hyperion City is the most beautiful place in the world, or the most scientifically interesting, or the weirdest. Juno understands better. He knows that Hyperion City is nothing more than a name, a name for the place where everyone he likes and loves and cares about is, all held together under the same stars as everywhere else in the world.

And that's the most beautiful thing of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOLY SHIT THIS FIC IS DONE!! back when i pitched the idea in a little discord server to a few of my friends i had no idea that it was gonna become... a big thing??? and here we are. my first long fic. hell yeah!
> 
> leave a comment!! tell me that this fic changed your life or that this ending was too cheesy and out of character or that you like the idea of nureyev as a professor with his gay little glasses and gay little coat. and leave a kudos! and share it with your friends! and follow me on twitter @vesbud! all of this means a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> i cant stress enough how much it means to me to get COMMENTS and KUDOS. how much i eat them up like cookies. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE if you liked this first chapter let me see!!


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